


Wildly Bizarre Boundaries

by Ride_Forever, verushka70



Category: due South
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canon Atypical Behavior, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Baggage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension with Eventual Resolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride_Forever/pseuds/Ride_Forever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/verushka70
Summary: “Ray, I am prepared to expand the boundaries of our relationship, to meet the needs you have which I cannot fulfill.” Fraser continued hustling Ray ahead of him down the street.“What?”“We're here to find you someone with whom to have sex, Ray.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Per the recollection of Chicago natives verushka70 and Ride_Forever, details of this story are accurate for the late '90s—the era of the original broadcast of the Kowalski season(s).
> 
> Poetry and song lyric quotations used under the aegis of the American Fair Use Copyright Act and the Canadian Fair Dealing Copyright Act. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> TYK to our over-all beta, [AuKestrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuKestrel/pseuds/AuKestrel), for the brilliance of her mind and the generosity of her time. TYK to [phenyx](https://phenyx.dreamwidth.org/) for final draft read-through. Additionally verushka70 beta'ed Ride_Forever's portions and Ride_Forever beta'ed verushka70's portions. 
> 
> TYK to [half_a_fanboy](https://half-a-fanboy.livejournal.com/) for general cheerleading and for some particular insights into the nature of Ray Kowalski.
> 
> TYK to [mizface](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizface) and [hazelwho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelwho/pseuds/hazelwho) for again and again modding the due South Canadian Six Degrees Big Bang.
> 
> TYK to _"The Staff of Requiem Publications"_ for their final-edit suggestions.

Ray Kowalski had watched plenty of women (and a number of men) throw themselves at Fraser – who ignored, deliberately misinterpreted, or otherwise politely sidestepped all their attempts. If Fraser didn’t dodge them almost immediately, he was just playing out a hunch to catch the bad guy (or gal). Very, _very_ rarely, he weakened due to loneliness, but only with people as unavailable as himself.

Fraser had probably dodged more romantic overtures and propositions than Ray had ever made. But even though Ray put himself out there easily, hit on women (and some men) like it was nothing, the idea of _this_ was… kind of terrifying. This wasn’t the more or less Sure Thing of going home with a barmaid at the end of her shift or a quick bathroom blowjob with a guy he’d never see again.

There were stakes here. Big stakes.

Ray needed some info – otherwise he was flying blind into who knew what, if he actually put himself out there, let Fraser know how he really felt.

All Ray knew was Fraser zipped up tighter than a clam if you tried to get details about his romantic past. Further questioning on the subject just made him more moody and evasive. Ray had thought they’d gotten a lot of that out of the way without much actual interrogation back when Fraser was newly returned from Canada and Kowalski was already on the Vecchio gig. But, really, that had been because Ray was incapable of hiding his emotions and Fraser had been around for the whole Stella-Orsini thing.

The imbalance of how much Fraser knew about Ray’s romantic failures (a lot) versus how much Ray knew about Fraser’s (nothing), was pretty steep. But it had quickly become apparent that despite Fraser’s extensive knowledge of Ray’s personal life, he felt no need to similarly unburden himself to Ray.

Fraser had a number of reasons (excuses), but they all boiled down to basically the same thing.

* * *

Fraser’s fork, full of mashed potatoes, stopped on its way to his mouth and went back to his plate.

“It wouldn’t be chivalrous, Ray,” Fraser said seriously.

He deposited the mashed potatoes back with their mounded brethren on his plate and moved them around. The move broke the side wall of their center well of gravy. Ray watched the gravy spill out of Fraser’s mashed potatoes like lava, and flow into his green beans.

“I know, but...” Ray began, then noticed Fraser had stopped eating. “Something wrong with the food?”

Fraser straightened up. “What? No, nothing.”

“Then eat your potatoes.” Ray pointed at Fraser’s food with his own fork.

Fraser scooped up some mashed potatoes and swept them through the spilled gravy on his plate before raising them. “Real potatoes, Ray.” He smiled happily. “Not reconstituted.” He took a bite and closed his eyes as if they tasted heavenly.

“Yeah. Right.” Ray smiled ruefully and sighed. “Real.”

He knew when he was being redirected. But he let it go.

* * *

“A gentleman never tells, Ray,” Fraser said and looked out the passenger window as Ray drove.

“Wait. So I’m not a gentleman?” Ray objected mildly. “’Cause I told you stuff about Stella?” – 

Because if Fraser set the standard, then Ray – and a whole host of suave movie and TV stars – probably weren’t gentlemen.

“Not at all. You revealed no details,” Fraser replied, and now he looked at Ray earnestly. “None of a sensitive – well, it was clearly difficult… Ray, I value your trust in – I’m just trying to uphold a standard–”

“I didn’t tell you about all of ‘em,” Ray interrupted, deftly maneuvering the GTO around a taxicab. “Just Stella.”

“Ah.” Fraser nodded and looked away again, out the passenger window.

“Ah?” Ray looked over.

“The secret of your chivalry is safe with me, Ray.” Fraser glanced at him, a finger alongside his nose – his version of a wink.

“Oh.” Ray shrugged. “Uh, thanks, Fraser.” He hesitated a moment, then thought he’d show a card or two. “Doubt it would matter to the guys anyway.”

“Don’t mention it,” Fraser said, as if he hadn’t heard the second part of what Ray had said. “Now, Ray, perhaps when we arrive at Mr. Rangachari’s grocery store, you can keep him occupied while I check the back.”

He got Ray off the subject. But it wasn’t like Ray didn't know it.

Ray had no idea what to make of Fraser’s total non-reaction to him revealing there were some guys in his past. Either that didn’t matter to Fraser (hopefully), or it mattered very much and he was pretending Ray hadn’t even said it (possibly, but hopefully not).

Fraser didn’t bring it up, so Ray didn’t either. He just sometimes gripped the steering wheel too tightly while Fraser rattled on in the passenger seat.

* * *

On their way home from the Community Policing meeting Welsh had suggested – meaning expected – Kowalski and Fraser attend in search of a witness, Ray tried again.

“We talk hypotheticals a lot, Fraser. You could too.” He lowered his voice and muttered, “I already do. Not so hypothetical.”  He adjusted his sunglasses. At least Fraser couldn’t see Ray's eyes and use his freaky superhero-like senses to see right through Ray.

Fraser scraped his eyebrow with his thumb and looked out the passenger window. “I assure you, my verbal restraint is only to protect the honor and reputations of the women involved.”

“Women,” Ray repeated. He hid his dismay and nodded like the new information was no big deal. Women. _Plural_.

If there had been guys in his past, Fraser would have said ‘the people involved’ – not ‘the women involved.’ Ray glanced at him like this was just a typical conversation, before he looked back at the traffic and swerved around a slow-moving car with out-of-state plates. Tourists.

Fraser jerked his gaze back to Ray. “Ray, I can neither confirm nor deny–”

“See, Fraser, this is buddies.” He reached over and squeezed Fraser’s shoulder without looking at him. Fraser quickly tensed up under his hand, so Ray let go before Fraser got any tenser.

“‘Buddies’,” Fraser repeated blandly, still looking at Ray.

“Yeah, see, I share things, you share things. That’s buddies. I guess ’cause you grew up in the middle of nowhere – but with way more nowhere, covered in snow and ice – maybe you don’t get the full meaning of ‘buddies’. But that’s buddies.” Ray slowed down and braked for a red light, still looking out the front windshield and not at Fraser.

“Right, well, I do,” Fraser corrected Ray mildly. He paused. “I can – and should – only speak for myself.” He lowered his voice. “I was mistaken about love.” Ray almost had to lean closer to hear Fraser speak. “When I thought I was in it.”

His voice faltered and he looked away, out at the traffic and the storefronts. Ray looked over, curious. Fraser’s gaze was distant and his faint smile was sad. He cleared his throat.

“There’s truly being in love, Ray, and then there’s an inner ear imbalance. Or subatomic particles in the magnetosphere.” He blinked, and his gaze snapped back to Ray’s. “It’s better to know the difference and accept that one is alone, than to confuse love with a medical condition or geomagnetics,” Fraser finished blandly, as if he were concluding instructions on how to wax the runners of a wooden dogsled or light a fire in a blizzard. He lifted a hand to smooth down a non-existent cowlick in his hair, and then touched the brim of his Stetson where it rested on Ray’s dashboard.

Because Ray knew him well, he could tell by Fraser’s tone that he was trying to convince himself more than Ray. He stared at Fraser, who stared back at him.

“Fraser,” Ray began.

As Fraser’s actual words hit him in a delayed reaction, Ray watched Fraser’s features mold themselves into the expressionless mask his face sometimes became when he addressed the Ice Queen or Welsh or officious bureaucrats. Now it fell between Fraser and himself. Ray was surprised, even if he shouldn’t have been, and not a little hurt. He fell silent for a moment, his mouth still slightly open.

“Yes, Ray?” Fraser inquired, his face and voice once again presenting the polite, courteous, _distant_ Mountie.

Ray’s eyes drifted down to Fraser’s mouth and he thought about – no, he _pictured_ himself – kissing it. Just wrapping his arms around Fraser tight and kissing him until the polite, hyper-competent Mountie knew in his bones what Ray carried inside for him. Ray wished he had the nerve to just – to just risk ruining everything right here and now – no recon, no plan, just _go_ for it. But this was too important.

“You’re not alone,” Ray murmured emphatically, still staring at Fraser’s mouth. “You’re _not_.”

His peripheral vision took in the sudden blush high on Fraser’s cheeks and the slight blotches of color that developed above the navy blue, gold, and red collar of his uniform. Ray focused on Fraser’s mouth. Just a kiss, one kiss, could show Fraser that he wasn’t alone, that they could be in this together–

Four cars honked their horns at the same time, including an annoying high-pitched beep of a tiny compact hatchback. Ray started and glanced in the rear view mirror, then at the stop light. Which was green. Maybe had been for a minute. Or two.

“It don’t get any greener!” some guy yelled out his car window.

Ray had _been_ that guy more than once. Embarrassed, he stomped on the gas – jerking himself, Fraser, and Dief back in their seats – and floored it through the intersection. When he looked over again, Fraser was staring out the passenger window. But he spoke in a small, grateful voice.

“Thank you, Ray. I…” He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said once more, adding softly, “Nor are you, Ray.”

Something warm unfolded in Ray’s chest, but when he glanced over, Fraser still stared silently out the passenger window.

* * *

Ray pressed Huey and Welsh separately. Each spoke only briefly about Victoria, and each of them spoke in such a way as to indicate that what they were about to say was the long and short of it, and they had nothing else to add. Interestingly, both pointed out the length of Fraser’s hospital stay after she escaped, though that was because of Vecchio’s friendly fire.

Not that Kowalski wasn’t already aware Vecchio had accidentally shot Fraser at the end of that case; he’d read the file backwards and forwards. But hell, having Fraser as a partner made Kowalski want to shoot him on a semi-regular basis – and not accidentally. Sometimes you wanted to shoot Fraser for _his_ own good, if not your own.

His dry, wise-ass tendency was Fraser’s secret weapon, like a skunk’s spray – deployed when he was cornered, but otherwise hidden as he wandered innocuously through your world, sniffing and tasting things like dirt and bugs. Not that that made Ray any less hot for him. It might even have made him hotter for Fraser – which probably said more about Ray than Fraser, and might’ve been just a _little_ too similar to Stella to dwell on for long.

“If he didn’t know before, Fraser had plenty of time in the hospital to figure it out: he _let_ her fool him. Look, Fraser just wasn’t himself,” Huey said tersely. “He was _way_ off his game. She did a real number on him – him _and_ Vecchio. Just let sleeping dogs lie, Ray. Leave it alone.”

Welsh was slightly more descriptive – and ominous.

“That’s an unexploded bomb, Detective. Officially, it’s open; unsolved. We kept it that way while he recovered in the hospital – kept the BOLO active, kept in touch with the Feds. Unofficially, it’s a cold case.” Welsh shrugged, shook his head, jingled the change and keys in his pockets. “Fraser was her _patsy_. First and last time I saw the Constable duped. Terrible thing to see. Never forget cuffing him. He took it like…” His gaze went distant as he trailed off.

Then Welsh abruptly leaned forward, in Ray’s face. “Say you kick that bomb,” he said, lifting his shoulders. “Maybe it just ticks for a while and stops.” He leaned even closer, giving Ray the urge to back away. Ray resisted it and leaned closer instead. “Maybe it explodes,” Welsh hissed quietly. He straightened back up and spoke in a normal tone again. “Either way, you and Vecchio’s Fed case are collateral damage – just the _first_ collateral damage. Don’t do it, Detective.” Welsh shook his head. “Don’t.”

He didn’t say _That’s an order._ Ray heard it anyway.

Besides Victoria – and Frannie’s attempt; yeah, he knew about that, too – and the others Ray knew about (Janet the chain-yanking, married bounty hunter, for example; and something weird, Canadian, and Mountie-like between Fraser and Thatcher, which was all kinds of Human-Resources-seminars-on-fraternization-between-superiors-and-subordinates wrong), there was really no telling what, or who, Fraser had or hadn’t done romantically or sexually during his time in Chicago. It seemed like not much. Before Chicago? Again, it seemed like not much.

But appearances could be deceiving, Ray knew. Even though Fraser denied it, well – after the buddy breathing, Ray wondered. He really, really wondered. Standard operating procedure… Sure, maybe theoretically. Maybe for scuba diving with oxygen tanks and special attachments to single-regulator oxygen apparatus, where no one’s lips landed on anyone else’s.

Ray had done his homework. Yes, the technique Fraser had used was in some official training manuals – none of them current. Not a single RCMP (or Coast Guard) employee with whom he’d spoken – unofficially and off the record, of course – had ever heard of that specific technique (sans scuba gear) being used in the field for years, despite many water rescues, despite many rescues by divers, despite all the water in and around Canada. It was theory, not practice, a relic of the past now known to endanger two people instead of just one.

Not that Ray wasn’t grateful – he _was_. Every time he looked at Fraser, every time they got into one more scrape together – Ray thought about the fact that he wouldn’t even _be_ here to get in yet another tight spot with Fraser, if Fraser hadn’t done the buddy breathing in the first place. It made Ray both melancholy and pretty pissed off at the same time. Wasn’t that enough? Hadn’t he risked his life _enough_ for, with, _because of_ , Fraser? Wasn’t that, alone, enough of a declaration?

* * *

“You called Ladyshoes’ kiss delightful,” Ray pointed out quietly while they each scanned a local video store’s two sets of books for discrepancies. “Was that chivalry?”

Fraser’s mouth tightened. “I was caught off guard,” he replied defensively. “And, well, her motives weren’t purely romantic. Describing it as ‘delightful’ isn’t exactly insulting or particularly revealing,” he added. “And it was. Delightful, that is.”

“Trouble usually is, at the start,” Ray sighed and nodded sympathetically. “Romantic trouble, I mean,” he added, careful to avoid assigning it a gender.

Fraser clenched his jaw and said nothing more.

“We’re just talking,” Ray said soothingly. “You don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Fraser replied, his voice suddenly a bit shakier than it had been a moment before.

“Okay,” Ray quickly reassured him, taken aback at Fraser’s discomfort. “Find anything yet?” He glanced over at Fraser’s copy of the books, side by side with his own, on his desk.

But Fraser’s eyes were squeezed shut tight. He opened them, looked guiltily at Ray, and then blushed furiously. “Not yet,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Keep looking,” Ray said softly, but his heart wasn’t in it. He turned his gaze back to his own copy of the books, but the lines swam together for a moment. He rubbed his eyes.

“We could… perhaps dinner would be helpful,” Fraser said quietly.

“Yeah,” Ray agreed, sliding a hand through his spikes, frustrated. “Dinner.”

“A full stomach does wonders for one’s attention span and alertness, Ray,” Fraser replied, his voice fully back to normal, back to its usual bland and hearty tone. The tone everyone else got.

Ray just looked at him, and watched the color drain from Fraser’s face.

“Alertness. Yeah,” was all Ray said. He opened his desk drawer for the file of menus for restaurants that delivered to the 27th, which Fraser had organized from the pile Ray’d had in his In box. He couldn’t even open a desk drawer without finding evidence of Fraser’s presence in – improvement of – his life.

Ray sighed and handed the file to Fraser. “Pick a menu. Either we’ll pay better attention, or we’ll be in a food coma. Either way, we’ll eat.”

* * *

They relieved Huey and Dewey on a boring stakeout of an otherwise empty warehouse suspected of being the transfer point for stolen car parts. They had stopped at Ray’s favorite Bridgeport fast food joint for bacon cheese fries beforehand.

“So this chivalry,” Ray said, sharing the cheese fries on the GTO seat between them, “it applies to men, too?”

He thought he already knew the answer but Ray figured he better ask now, before he attempted to add himself to Fraser’s pile of romantic discards. He forked up more cheese fries, watched the empty loading docks, and chewed.

“Of course, Ray. Gentle _man_ implies _male_.”

Fraser’s tone was matter-of-fact and infinitely patient, as if he were prepared to endlessly entertain the stupidest questions on earth. Which, considering he worked at a Consulate as his day job and then liaised with the Chicago police for fun in his off-hours, Ray supposed was entirely possible. Fraser plunged his fork back into the gooey cheese fries.

Ray swallowed his mouthful and gently shook his head. “No, Frase,” he said, just as matter-of-factly and infinitely patient; as a Chicago flatfoot, he had just as much experience entertaining the stupidest questions on earth. “Not you, the _other_ person. A male sex partner. Romantic partner. Whatever.” Ray looked up at the loading docks and watched Fraser out of the corner of his eye as he continued eating cheese fries.

Fraser went very still. His plastic fork stopped half-way between his mouth and the greasy cardboard tray of cheese fries on the seat between them. Unnaturally orange cheese product dribbled slowly down the fries stuck in Fraser’s plastic fork.

“Then, yes,” Fraser finally said slowly, his cheeks pinking. “One’s partner’s gender is not the concern. Respecting their privacy and reputation is.”

His fork didn’t move though. Ray side-eyed it. The cheese oozed to the end of Fraser’s forkful of cheese fries and welled into a pendulous droplet like cold honey, hanging at the tip of a french fry.

“Fair enough,” Ray nodded and chewed.

He glanced over at Fraser’s motionless forkful of cheesy fries and grabbed a couple paper napkins. He put one on the seat below it, then slapped one on Fraser’s thigh. Fraser’s hand jerked at the contact, and the hanging glob of cheese fell from his fries onto the napkin on the GTO’s seat. Upholstery saved, Ray resumed watching the loading docks.

“One might argue it is of even more importance with a same sex partner.” Fraser’s voice sounded a little strangled. He cleared his throat. As he put his fork back down in the small tray of cheese fries, his hand shook slightly. “Not because there is anything inherently wrong with that–”

“Not a thing,” Ray quickly agreed neutrally.

“–but because discretion is especially important for men in careers of, ah, more, more – or rather less, that is to say, less, ah – tolerant–”

“Homophobic jobs, like the military and law enforcement,” Ray finished for him.

He stuck his fork in the cheese fries, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked directly at Fraser. Their gazes locked. Ray didn’t say anything for a moment, but his face felt hot and – naked. He wanted to say something, but his voice had just abandoned him, like it wasn’t there in his throat.

Which was stupid, really. If he were going to tell anyone, he’d want to tell the polite Canadian Mountie who never judged people by appearances, right? He’d want to tell the guy who gave even known criminals with smoking guns the benefit of the doubt if their story had a snowball’s chance in hell of being true, and even if it wasn’t, made allowances for mitigating circumstances.

Fraser’s mouth opened slightly before he snapped it shut. But before Ray could say anything, Fraser spoke. All he said, though, was –

“Oh.”

Then Fraser looked down at his hands in his lap. His face seemed to struggle to express several emotions at once before it went utterly blank, though it remained pink.

Ray tried again, clearing his throat. His voice sounded rough, like he’d just chain-smoked half a pack of cigarettes. He looked away from Fraser, back at the loading docks that Fraser seemed to have completely forgotten about in a very un-Mountie-like way.

“Yeah, so, obviously Stella knows. Don’t know who else knows I’m bi. Right before they offered me the Vecchio gig, I was almost – out. I didn’t flaunt it, but I didn’t hide it, either. Just kept it separate from work.” Ray shrugged. “But then I had to be Vecchio. So. Had to get back in a closet I was never totally out of, I guess.”

Ray shifted and realized his arms crossed over his chest sent body language he didn’t need with Fraser. He trusted Fraser – he did – even if Fraser didn’t trust him. Ray unfolded his arms and then picked up his plastic fork again.

“Best I could tell–” Ray continued, stabbing the cheese fries a little too viciously, “–from the files, from what everyone said – Vecchio’s straight.” He looked over at the loading docks. “Could’ve used your insight. But you were on vacation in the Yukon Territories.”

Ray resumed eating cheese fries and slowly let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He waited for Fraser to correct his misnaming the province and shifted his gaze back to Fraser. Fraser looked at him, his expression a strange mixture of sympathetic, envious, and alarmed.

“Better eat or it’s gonna get cold.” Ray nodded at Fraser’s fork, stuck in the cheese fries on Fraser’s side.

The remaining cheese fries were only half gone, so Ray tucked in. They were only good while they were hot, and they were rapidly cooling. If Fraser wasn’t going to eat, he was. Ray looked over at the loading docks, but they were as empty as they had been the whole time they’d sat here.

Fraser hadn’t spoken or responded in any way since he’d said “Oh.” To leave Ray hanging out on a limb like this all by himself was _so_ not buddies. To not correct his misnaming of the province was very …interesting.

“Ray,” Fraser said softly.

“Yeah, Frase.” Ray didn’t look at Fraser, just kept monitoring the loading docks and eating cheese fries. “What.”

“You seem somehow taller now.”

Of all the things Fraser could have said, this was definitely not what Ray expected. He looked over at Fraser, truly puzzled.

“I seem… what?”

“You’re very… brave,” Fraser murmured. He almost looked misty-eyed. “You look taller, like you’ve thrown off a… a weight.”

Ray couldn’t help smiling a little. “Yeah? Felt good to get it off my chest.” He hesitated. “With you.”

“And, throwing off that weight, you stand taller now. Well, sit taller.” Fraser nodded decisively.

Of course, Fraser said nothing about himself. Ray squinted at Fraser for a moment, then went back to eating and checking the warehouse loading docks.

“These are no good cold, Fraser. You gonna help me eat ‘em? Or you gonna sit here flattering me and avoiding reciprocal personal disclosure?”

Fraser looked at Ray, then began slowly eating again. “That… was a beautiful sentence.”

Ray suppressed a sigh. “Okay, avoiding,” he muttered.

“Ray, I…” Fraser ate a forkful of cheese fries, chewed, and swallowed. “I’m not…”

Ray stiffened, waiting to hear which version of _I’m not bi, I’m not gay, I’ve never thought of men that way_ it would be. Had he read Fraser that wrong? Seen only what he wanted to see?

“I’m not as courageous as you are,” Fraser said quietly after he’d swallowed his mouthful.

Ray scowled, chewing and swallowing, and then sighed, shrugged, and shook his head. Okay, so he’d pretty much expected –

Wait. If Fraser was completely hetero, why would he _need_ courage? Ray sat up straight as a ramrod and turned to Fraser, just as Fraser seemed to shrink back from him slightly in the car.

“Fraser, are you – you’re saying–”

Fraser shook his head slowly. “I’m not _saying_ anything,” he murmured. But then he stopped, cocked his head, and set his jaw. “Ask me anything, Ray.” He turned completely to face Ray.

Ray also turned behind the steering wheel, and faced Fraser. He glanced at the loading docks. Still nothing. Whereas in Ray’s car, momentous things were about to unfold, apparently.

Ray’s mouth was dry suddenly. “Okay, so, just to be clear, I’m not asking about any of the people–” he carefully didn’t assign gender – “you’ve been with. Just you.”

Fraser nodded.

“So, Fraser,” Ray said, sliding his thumb nervously back and forth along the dashboard, “have you exclusively had feelings for women?”

Fraser paused and a bright blush hit his cheeks. It just made him more handsome. He didn’t speak, but shook his head, No.

Ray nodded, swallowing, his heart hammering happily with relief. He was right, he’d been right all along, he should’ve trusted his instincts. Just to clarify, though, he should confirm.

“So, you’ve been with… a guy.”

Fraser thought about this for quite a long time without moving. After the first few seconds without an answer, Ray’s stomach dropped and something fluttered, frightened, in his chest. This was an easy yes-or-no question: where did thinking about it come in?

But Fraser seemed to really be thinking about his answer. He hadn’t turned away or frozen or jumped out of the car. He just looked down at his hands and thought. Then his eyes moved up to the GTO’s dome light. Then he shifted his eyes to the dashboard, and his gaze went distant, and –

Ray put up a hand. “I – I’ll rephrase.” Ray hesitated. “You’ve formed romantic attachments to women and men. Whether or not they were – reciprocated.”

Fraser’s mouth went a little tight, and his eyes got a little distant, at Ray’s last sentence. But after a moment, he nodded stiffly.

“Okay.” Ray tried to avoid too obviously heaving a sigh of relief. “Yeah, been there,” he added sympathetically.

Diefenbaker made a noise in the back seat, and Fraser frowned at him, but then looked back at Ray.

“So you,” Ray began, “you’re uh…”

He thought for a moment. This was Fraser: he had to choose his words carefully. _Are you now, or have you ever_ – no, Christ, what was he thinking, that was all kinds of terrible – how about, _In your past, or in your future, did you ever see a guy as The_ – no, that would put the cart before the horse, like his mom used to say – shit, this was harder than Ray had anticipated. Fraser looked at Ray expectantly, almost hopefully – and words failed Ray.

He stared back at Fraser, trying to figure out what to ask to get the right answer… an answer that Fraser clearly wanted to give, somehow, without actually speaking descriptively about himself – or speaking at all, apparently. Ray had to think of what to ask that wouldn’t spook Fraser too much – something that wasn’t too direct, something that didn’t give away how invested he was in Fraser’s answer –

“Would you go out with me? On, like, a real date?” Ray blurted, mouth completely and utterly disconnected from his brain.

That wasn’t subterfuge at all. That wasn’t casual or noncommittal, that certainly didn’t sound like it didn’t matter much to Ray –

Not only was Fraser nodding, his lips curved into one of his rare but sweetly genuine smiles, even as his face flushed to his hairline. This time he didn’t just nod, he spoke, too.

“Yes, Ray,” he said breathlessly.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The following Friday after work, they went back to Ray’s apartment much like they normally did. But in fifteen minutes, Ray had showered, shaved, and put on some cologne he never wore – some unrecognizable shit he’d gotten for Christmas a few years ago that smelled okay and didn’t clash with his antiperspirant. He put on a clean shirt and jeans and met Fraser in the living room, where he was reading one of Ray’s old Ring World magazines. Fraser stood up hastily, and just the slightest lifting of his chin and nose made it seem like he scented Ray’s cologne from across the room.

But all he said was, “Should I stop at the Consulate to clean up and change?”

Ray snorted. “You? You could fall in a dumpster, roll in garbage, and come out looking perfect and smelling like you just got out of the shower.” He shook his head fondly. “I’m not that lucky. But, if you feel the need…”

Fraser cracked his neck nervously, then nodded. “I'd appreciate it, Ray.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Right you are.”

* * *

Dinner was not a fancy affair – it was at a diner they both favored, with overpriced but delicious steakburgers and thick cut fries (which you could get with au jus gravy if desired, which Fraser sometimes did, which Ray had never quite understood until Fraser finally made him taste them, and then he _totally_ understood). Since Ray’d gone home first to shower and change, it felt more like a date, which was the point.

Ray realized as they argued the merits of waiting for the Illinois State Crime Lab versus pounding the pavement running down leads –

“–suggesting we use DNA instead of, but in addition to, conventional police work, Ray.”

“But the Crime Lab is way backed up, Fraser. Eighteen months worth of rape kits they haven’t even tested, and that’s only for the active cases. And every ‘rush job’ backs ‘em up even more.”

Fraser took a large bite of his steakburger.

–that Fraser seemed somehow happy. Well, happier than usual. Ray put his burger down.

“Ray? Is something wrong with your food?” Fraser asked after politely swallowing his mouthful of food first.

“No, I just – you seem, I don’t know… happy.”

Fraser seemed to think about this, his eyes dropping to the tabletop between them. As he did so, his cheeks reddened a bit.

“I – I suppose I am,” he finally answered, looking up at Ray. He was a bit flushed and he lowered his burger as if about to put it down.

Ray picked his burger up again, smiling to himself. “That got anything to do with me?” he ventured to ask before taking a huge bite of his steakburger.

Fraser blinked and flushed more, but he tilted his head, watching as Ray met his eyes over his steakburger. He ventured a small smile, seeming flustered.

“Yes,” he admitted.

Ray chewed happily and swallowed. “Greatness.” He grinned and took another huge bite. Suddenly he was starving.

Fraser paused, his smile widening a bit, but he seemed to relax then, and resumed eating.

* * *

“Tonight was really nice,” Ray began as he put the GTO in neutral and pulled up the parking brake. He turned sideways a little, and laid his right arm across the back of the front seat, brushing the back of Fraser’s left shoulder. Fraser seemed to – flinch wasn’t the right word – maybe shiver.

“Yes,” Fraser agreed, looking down at his lap. He seemed suddenly fidgety, brushing invisible lint off his uniform.

“I dunno, it felt – different,” Ray added hopefully.

“Yes,” Fraser replied, tugging at the bottom edge of his red tunic.

“What do you think?” Ray asked, edging a little closer, hoping Fraser felt the same.

Fraser stiffened and then sat up straight, coming as close to attention as possible while sitting in a ‘67 GTO and not saluting. “It was very nice,” he said sincerely, but his voice sounded strained.

“It wasn’t – weird for you?”

“No,” Fraser chuckled nervously. “No, no, it, it – it was, was, well – no, it’s fine.”

“I – um, Frase – are you okay? You were relaxed in the restaurant. Now you seem, I don’t know, a little tense–”

“I, uh, I have, I-have-unfinished-paperwork-Ray,-it-was-a-lovely-evening,” Fraser said quickly, and then his hand was on the passenger door handle, opening it.

Before Ray knew it, Fraser’s boots were on the ground outside the passenger door and he was leaning down, looking into the car but not meeting Ray’s eyes.

“Thank you, Ray, tonight was very nice. I look forward to our next – outing,” Fraser said, sounding oddly formal, his gaze directed at the floor of the GTO.

“Yeah, Frase, me t–”

The door slammed and Fraser was gone, running up the steps to the Consulate. He barely paused at the door to execute a small wave at Ray, then slipped inside and was gone.

Ray stared after him a moment, then remembered to shut his mouth. He hesitated, then scratched his chin for a second before straightening in the driver’s seat. He looked over at the Consulate door, but it looked shut up tight. Ray shook his head, put the GTO in gear, and drove off.

* * *

The next time they went out after work and Ray dropped Fraser off at the Consulate, Ray cut the engine and put on the parking brake. Then he deliberately scooted closer to Fraser. Fraser seemed to shrink back against the passenger door. They talked about Ray didn’t know what for less than thirty seconds before Fraser once again opened the passenger door – mid-sentence this time – and nearly fell out of the car in his haste to leave.

When Fraser was inside the Consulate, Ray slowly slid completely back behind the wheel and wondered what he’d done wrong. He ran through the evening in his mind, trying to figure out where things had taken a wrong turn. But he couldn’t find anything different tonight than any other night they’d had dinner after work before he had asked Fraser to go out with him on a date. Except of course he did stuff, like turn in his seat to kiss Fraser and –

That was it. He’d never done that before. Fraser seemed spooked by this. Did he think that maybe Ray had other irons in the fire? Ray would correct that perception the next time they went out.

* * *

On their next date night, when he drove Fraser to the Consulate, he watched Fraser tense up more and more the closer they got to the Consulate. But this time Ray was prepared.

He turned in his seat and said, “There’s no one else, Fraser.”

“Excuse me?” Fraser swiveled his gaze, which had been avoiding Ray’s for the moment, to meet Ray’s eyes.

“I’m not seeing anyone else, okay? Just you.”

“Oh,” Fraser said. This didn’t seem to relax him at all.

“You just – every time we drive back to the Consulate when we go out on these – date nights, you get all tense.”

“I do n–” Fraser cut himself off and scraped a thumbnail across his brow. “It’s that obvious?” he asked, voice subdued.

“Yeah. Look, I know you seen me ask every single woman in the 27th out on a date. I thought maybe you thought I was – you know, that you weren’t the only one. But you _are_ the only person I’m seeing. Okay?” Ray hoped this would reassure Fraser.

“All right,” Fraser agreed, but he didn’t seem to relax.

“Just wanted you to know that,” Ray added.

“All right, I know. I am now fully aware now,” Fraser said redundantly.

“So you wouldn’t feel – weird. ‘Bout anything I might try.”

“Try – oh, oh, look at the time, Ray,” Fraser said quickly, looking at his watch, and then putting his hand on the door handle. “I should really – it’s been lovely, truly, and thank you for letting me know that your affection is reserved solely for me, that wasn’t a – well, I’m glad to know, and – I’ll just – just – see you tomorrow Ray,” Fraser finished, already out the door and talking down at the floor of the GTO. “Good night.”

He shut the door with less of a slam this time, and was up the steps and in the Consulate with his customary cheery wave before disappearing inside.

Ray sat in the GTO outside for a few minutes thinking, _Well, that wasn’t it_.

* * *

The next time Ray turned in the driver’s seat and edged closer to Fraser, when Fraser put his hand on the passenger door, Ray put his hand on Fraser’s arm.

“Is it ’cause I don’t read poetry? Because they made us read the ‘Song of Hiawatha’ by Longfellow in Boy Scouts. When we camped with the Girl Scouts. The Girl Scouts did the high parts; we did the low parts. I’m not against poetry, Fraser, I’m not–”

“Ray, I–” Fraser’s arm tensed under Ray’s hand, but he didn’t pull away. Yet.

“–I’m not that great with abstract things. But what’s that one guy’s name… the one who didn’t make everything rhyme. His name was all lower-case–”

“–perhaps you mean e. e. cummings?”

“Yeah! That guy! I had to read some of his stuff for an English class. I really liked his poems. It’s just, sometimes in school, poetry seemed like literary vegetables – the food you _should_ eat, but you don’t always _want_ to eat–”

“Ray, it has nothing to do with poetry–”

“Point me to an author, a poet, I’ll – like that chick poet, what was her name? The one who wrote that ‘are you nobody too?’ poem–”

“Perhaps you mean Emily Dickinson–?”

“Yeah, Dickinson!” Ray’s hand tightened on Fraser’s arm. “I mean, I don’t have any of her books of poetry. But if you do I’ll borrow ‘em. I’ll read ‘em– I’ll read ‘em _to_ you, Frase–”

“Ray, it’s–” Fraser took his hand off the door handle and gently pried Ray’s fingers from his arm.

Well, that was a start. Ray gripped the hand Fraser had used to pry his hand off Fraser’s arm, and despite having his arm stretched awkwardly across his body, Fraser didn’t let go of it.

“It’s – it’s not you, Ray, it has nothing to do with you or what you read or–” Fraser took a deep breath. “I enjoy your company very much. Very, _very_ much. There is no one in whose company I’d rather be.”

Ray’s hand tightened its grip on Fraser’s. “Yeah? You mean that?”

“I mean it. My, my, I am – Ray, it isn’t you. Please, do not examine yourself for flaws because I don’t – I can’t – I am sorry, I’m quite reserved, Ray,” Fraser stuttered, his voice becoming a mumble near the end. “I’m just – I haven’t – this is not my forte, Ray.”

Ray blinked. “But you’re – you’re such a gentleman, Fraser.”

“There are rules of decorum for, for, um. I, I–” Fraser squeezed Ray’s hand hard before sliding his hand out of it. “I’m sorry. The blame lays entirely with me. I have never been – comfortable with this, really, and I’m–”

“Oh,” Ray said and nodded, letting his hand fall to the seat between them. “I get it.”

“You do?” Fraser said, so wistfully, so hopefully, Ray felt a twinge in his chest.

“Yeah. You’re just out of practice,” Ray nodded. “You just need to – like riding a bicycle, Fraser. You never forget.”

Fraser smiled sadly. “That presupposes I was ever good at riding a bicycle, Ray.”

“That–”

“Never mind.” Fraser sighed and opened the door, but this time he didn’t move as swiftly. “I do enjoy your company. I do enjoy these nights – out. I – I am sorry I’m not very good at this. I’ll promise to do better.”

He slid away on the bench seat of the GTO, putting one booted foot on the ground. But before he could put his weight on it, Ray’s hand grabbed his arm again.

“Hey,” Ray said to Fraser’s back. “You don’t have to ‘do better.’ It’s not work. At least, it shouldn’t be. It should come natural.”

Fraser’s shoulders slumped, just a little. “Well, it doesn’t. Exactly. It does – and it doesn’t.”

“Okay,” Ray said, sliding his hand gently up and down Fraser’s arm. “Okay. I – um. Well, listen. It should be fun. Okay?”

“Fun,” Fraser said, without turning around, like this was a novel concept.

“Yeah, fun. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

Fraser sighed. “I am. I do. It’s – parting, where I – ruin everything.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” Ray said, squeezing Fraser’s arm, still in his grasp. “Thanks for letting me know. I was starting to wonder what I was doing wrong.”

“Nothing, Ray,” Fraser sighed. “You've done nothing wrong.”

“Okay. Good to know. Um.” He released Fraser’s forearm reluctantly.

“Good night, Ray,” Fraser said over his shoulder, before getting out of the GTO and shutting the door behind him.

“Good night, Frase,” Ray said softly to the empty car, watching Fraser run briskly up the steps away from him.

* * *

At the end of a particularly grueling day which had involved grilling the snot out of the manager of a puppy mill and the removal of dozens of dirty, unkempt, half-wild pure-bred toy dogs from tiny cages in a warehouse – very closely supervised by Diefenbaker – Ray drove them to a restaurant tavern for a well-deserved meal.

One beer with his patty melt turned into a second beer after dinner. Ray felt Fraser eye him carefully but nothing was said. They moved from the restaurant section to the bar to watch the rest of a terrible Bulls game. Feeling Fraser’s eyes on him, Ray ordered Fraser a Molson’s and himself ginger ale.

On the ride back to the Consulate, Ray drove carefully and correctly, feeling Fraser’s watchful eyes on him. The closer they got to the Consulate, the more tense Fraser seemed to get.

Ray pulled up in front of the Consulate, and turned to Fraser, who already had his hand on the passenger door handle.

“Frase, wait–”

“Ray, I–”

“Frase–” Ray put his hand on Fraser’s forearm, but Fraser wrenched it out of his grasp.

Ray looked at him, surprised and hurt. “Hey, I wasn’t going to–”

Fraser nodded but averted his gaze. “I know, I just–” He took a deep breath. “Ray, if I might–” He cut himself off again, then put two fingers between his neck and the collar of his Serge, as if it had suddenly become too tight.

“Fraser, what?”

“It’s just–” Fraser cleared his throat. “A demarcation – a boundary, between work and – leisure time, would be, ahem – This was a work night. And I – the transition to – a social outing with you, is… is…” He trailed off, again pulling at his collar with two fingers.

“I… what? Wait,” Ray scratched his chin. “You saying you don’t want – dinner can’t be like a date night on work nights?”

“Something like that, yes,” Fraser said with relief. “That there are – or should be – work nights, when everything is the same, and then there are …social nights, when we pursue… this.” He gestured in a small circle encompassing he and Ray, his right hand still on the GTO’s door handle.

“Oh.” Ray considered this. “Um. So, not on weeknights? Not on work nights? That what you’re saying? Only on… date nights? Like Friday or Saturday?”

“Yes,” Fraser said with visible relief. “That is exactly what I’m saying. The other evenings, the ‘work nights,’ I just – can we just continue as we were?” he finished plaintively. “Partners? Work partners,” Fraser clarified quickly.

“’Course,” Ray said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“It’s not you, Ray. It’s my own difficulty with – but I would appreciate it, Ray.”

“Well, sure,” Ray said fondly. “I get it. It’s kind of a gear change, I know.”

“Yes, exactly,” Fraser agreed, his thumbnail scraping his eyebrow again. He reached for his Stetson, sitting on the seat between them.

“Okay,” Ray agreed, nodding. “We can do that.”

“Thank you very much, Ray.” Fraser nodded, opening the passenger door, then. He put a booted foot on the ground. “See you tomorrow, Ray.”

“Yeah, see you to–”

The door slammed shut.

“–morrow,” Ray finished to an empty car.

He watched Fraser trot quickly up the Consulate steps, turning to wave briefly before disappearing inside.

* * *

“It’s not that I don’t like subtitles,” Ray argued as he drove to the Consulate after their dinner-and-a-movie date.

“Well, you’re expressing a preference for dubbing, which can never really replicate the inflection and phrasing of the actors’ original–”

“But with dubbing, I don’t spend the whole movie reading subtitles, and missing the actors’ expressions, the visuals, the action.”

“Well, just glance at the subtitles and then look back up at the actors and the scene,” Fraser suggested.

Ray chuckled. “I don’t read that fast, Fraser. Sometimes there’s too much of them. They’re _distracting_ , is what it is.”

“Well,” Fraser said, pulling his ear contemplatively, “to be fair, subtitles often don’t fully capture all the spoken dialogue – especially idiomatic expressions, which are difficult to translate.”

“So there you go.”

Ray pulled up in front of the Consulate and turned the car off. He unbuckled his seat belt, and Fraser suddenly looked apprehensive.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I only peed once at the theater. I gotta pee again,” Ray explained, opening his door; it wasn’t actually a lie. “I can use the Consulate bathroom, right?”

He didn’t wait for Fraser’s answer, but got out of the GTO and shut the door. Fraser hastily did the same. Ray was already on the passenger side of the car, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Well, come on, my bladder’s only so big,” Ray gestured up the stairs to the Consulate while Fraser stood next to the GTO with his hat in his hands.

“You drank nearly a liter and a half of soda, Ray,” Fraser said irritably. He turned and headed up the steps to the Consulate door. “I’m not sure what you expected.”

“Soda, water, wouldn’t have mattered. I needed the caffeine to stay awake,” Ray said behind him on the steps.

Fraser unlocked the door and took a deep breath before opening it.

“Well, come in,” he said, entering and letting Ray in behind him. He locked the door behind him as Ray went off to the bathroom.

Fraser was just hanging up his jacket when Ray came out of the bathroom, radiating an expectant alertness. Fraser went to the desk in the Consulate foyer. He shuffled through some papers still on the desk blotter.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ray said behind him.

“I’m – what?” Fraser said, but the absent-minded tone wasn’t quite genuine. “I do have unfinished–”

“Fraser,” Ray began, and put a hand on Fraser’s shoulder to turn him around.

Fraser turned, but he backed up against the desk. “Ray – I’m–”

Ray leaned in, but Fraser turned his face away. Ray’s lips pursed on thin air as Fraser slid from where he was wedged between Ray and the desk.

Ray stopped and stood where he was, facing the desk and away from Fraser. He scratched the back of his head. Fraser looked at the floor, and sighed heavily. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Ray took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally he spoke.

“Fraser, I’m trying real hard to understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Fraser whispered miserably, still looking at the floor. “I – I’m sorry.”

Ray turned around slowly and looked at Fraser. But Fraser’s gaze didn’t move from the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides.

Ray took a deep breath and his voice was eerily patient. “If you don’t wanna do this, Fraser, you gotta tell–”

Fraser’s head snapped up, his expression anguished. “I do, Ray, I do–”

“You got a funny way of showing it,” Ray growled, patience gone. “I lean in for a kiss and you dodge me. In my car, we don’t even hold hands–” He threw his hands up. “It’s been weeks. No, wait; a few months. What would **you** think, in my shoes?”

Fraser swallowed convulsively, anguish shading into guilt on his face. “I would think I didn’t want to – do this,” he mumbled. “But I do, Ray, I’m just not very good–”

“–Yeah, yeah, you said,” Ray interrupted, swiping a hand over his face and then through his spikes of hair. “Throw me a bone, here, Frase. ’Cause I don’t get this. We go out on our actual dates. We have a good time – 'least, that’s how it seems to me. But I don’t think I’m wrong.”

Fraser hung his head. Ray sat on the edge of the desk and continued tiredly.

“Then I bring you home. And somehow on the ride home, everything changes. We get here, and whether it’s in the car outside or in here, all of a sudden you want nothing to do with me. You keep me at arm’s length – you’re more distant than during the day, when we’re just partners.” Ray sighed.

“I swear, Ray,” Fraser whispered to the floor. “I _do_ enjoy our – dates. I enjoy them very _much_. It’s this – transition – I’m not, not very good at.”

“Not at all,” Ray agreed grimly, nodding, looking Fraser over, from head to toe.

“I’m sorry,” Fraser whispered to the floor, his posture rigid, his fists clenched at his sides.

Ray took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want you to be _sorry._ I want you to – to _want_ to do this stuff with me. It’s normal to want to kiss the person you’re dating. I want to – I want to _kiss_ you, Fraser. Don’t you – don’t you want me to kiss you?” He hated the pleading tone in his voice, but there it was.

Fraser nodded at the floor. “Yes. Eventually.”

“Eventually?” Ray repeated, unable to keep the edge of disbelief out of his voice.

“Yes,” Fraser said miserably. “I don’t – don’t know when, exactly.”

“Fraser, I know – chivalry and all that… But I really need to know something. And it’s not about your previous, uh, partners. It’s about you,” Ray said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fraser slowly raised his gaze from the floor to look at Ray, blanching.

“Frase,” Ray began, a bit more gently, “don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re not a virgin, are you?”

Fraser met Ray’s eyes. His cheeks colored, but he admitted softly, “No.”

Ray nodded encouragingly. “Okay, um, so this isn’t – completely foreign.” He sighed with something like relief. “So, if you had to list your sex partners – and I’m not asking you to do that–” he quickly cautioned as Fraser’s posture stiffened further, “this is just about the number of people – approximately, not exactly. In multiples of five… so if it’s one person or five people, it’s still ‘five’. And if it’s six people or nine people, it’s ‘ten,’ because that’s more than five but less than ten. Would you need one hand, two hands, or more than two hands?”

“How is this relevant?” Fraser asked, his voice low and fretful.

“It’s relevant to your comfort level with–” Ray gestured between he and Fraser. “–all this.”

“Isn’t it obvious–”

“Actually, no, it’s not. So. Fraser. One hand, two hands, more than two hands…?”

Fraser exhaled petulantly, and stepped back from Ray. His cheeks blushed darker, but he opened one fist and turned the open palm to face Ray.

“Okay,” Ray nodded, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Okay, got it.”

“And yourself, Ray?” Fraser suddenly spoke up, an edge to his voice despite the flush now taking over from the collar of his flannel shirt to his hairline.

“Me? Um. More than two hands.” Ray felt the warmth of a blush hit his own cheeks. “Well, depends if you mean – put it this way: if blow jobs alone count, more than two hands: three hands, maybe four. I didn’t really count. If you mean, uh, penetration of, other holes, then two hands. Maybe three.” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “There were some shit-faced nights post-divorce I don’t remember much–”

“You don’t really count?” Fraser said coolly. “I see.”

“Hey!” Ray snapped. “Don’t judge. I am not judging you; you do not get to judge me.”

“I’m not,” Fraser said flatly. “I’m merely considering the disparity.”

“You think that’s a problem?” Ray asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

“It would explain… differing expectations,” Fraser said slowly, heavily. The slight edge to his voice was still there, but he unclenched his other fist slowly. “Ray, I’m–”

“–don’t say ‘sorry’ again, Frase. It is what it is, okay? Like you said, different experiences, different expectations.”

“I was going to say ‘used to taking things much more slowly’.”

“Yeah,” Ray nodded slowly. “I got that. I didn’t realize – how slow.”

Fraser swallowed nervously and looked away. “I’ve made the mistake of – of taking things too quickly before.”

“Oh.” Ray had no answer for that.

“I won’t do it again,” Fraser said, suddenly fiercely. “I _won’t_.” He was vehement, his fists clenched again.

“Okay, Frase, calm down.” Ray put his hands up, palms facing Fraser in a peaceful, placating gesture. “No one’s forcing you.”

“You wouldn’t. I know,” Fraser replied, more subdued. “I’m afraid I can’t provide a schedule with a timeline,” he added, slightly sarcastically.

“Look, Fraser,” Ray growled, “I’m not asking for that. I just need to know we’re going to kiss eventually. Shit, that we’re going to _touch_.”

“We touch often – daily,” Fraser argued, prevaricating.

“As partners,” Ray replied flatly. “Not,” he hesitated. “Not as …dates. Not more than platonically.”

Fraser had no response for a moment. Slowly tension seeped out of his shoulders and he didn’t relax so much as slouch.

“Ray, I do want to touch. And to kiss. I can’t say exactly when. When it – feels right, I suppose.”

Ray looked searchingly at Fraser. “I …I read the case report, Fraser. But I had to read between the lines a lot.”

Fraser blanched and stiffened again. “You – what?”

“Fraser. Being gun-shy would be a normal reaction to – to what she did.”

Fraser became still as stone. The silence between them lengthened as Ray said nothing further. Finally Fraser spoke.

“I wasn’t aware you possessed a degree in psychology, Ray.” His voice was cool, detached, ironic. “Much less the appropriate certifications or credentials for clinical work.”

“Fraser,” Ray sighed softly. “This isn’t clinical, it’s – Victoria set you up, fucked you over, _shot your dog_ –”

“–wolf–” Fraser corrected snippily.

“–with _your_ gun. And your partner shot you in the back in a ‘friendly fire’ incident, _aiming for her._ I don’t _need_ a degree in psychology. Anyone in your shoes would be gun shy after _her_. Okay? I _get_ it.”

Fraser’s mouth, silently open to argue or protest, slowly shut. He looked away and didn’t speak for a very long time.

“I don’t talk about that,” he finally said, voice trembling. “Ever.”

Ray shook his head. “I know. Chivalry or whatever. I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying – if you’re gun shy from… that, I understand.”

“No,” Fraser choked out, turning away. “You don’t. You _can’t_.”

“I’m divorced, Fraser. Maybe Stella didn’t shoot my dog or get me shot, but it sure felt like it sometimes. For a couple years it felt like I’d been shot and forgot to fall. I was a walking zombie at work, but work was the only thing I had left. I drank myself into oblivion most nights – at home alone, or out late in bars. I was late to work – a lot. I called in sick a lot, not always ’cause I was hung over.” He swallowed audibly and shook his head. “Any other job, I’d have been fired. I was referred to Employee Assistance. To counseling. Fraser, I _understand_.”

Fraser’s shoulders remained tense and he kept his back to Ray, who shifted on the edge of the desk. For a long time neither of them spoke.

“Fraser,” Ray finally said, his voice rough.

Fraser half turned toward Ray, but his gaze remained directed at the floor though he seemed to be looking inward. Ray silently sighed at this picture of them, several feet away from each other, one with his back half-turned toward the other. If he were a betting man, Ray would have bet a beginning like this wouldn’t turn out well. He pushed that thought away.

“Just tell me this,” Ray pleaded gruffly. “Tell me you think about me, at night, alone, in bed. Or in the shower.” He took a breath, rushing to finish. “I mean, don’t tell me that if it isn’t true. But if you do, I need to know. Because I think of you that way. It’s not the only way I think of you, but–”

“Ray,” Fraser interrupted softly, squaring his shoulders and standing up straighter. He paused. “I _do_ think of you that way.” He cleared his throat.

Ray stood up from the desk, smiling slowly, feeling his chest and face warm. “Okay. Okay. That’s good. That’s all I needed to hear.” He took a few steps towards Fraser and put a hand on Fraser’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’ll see ya tomorrow. Okay?”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser replied softly. He didn’t turn around, but he seemed to lean into Ray’s grasp of his shoulder. “Good night.”

“G’night.” Ray let go of Fraser’s shoulder and went to the Consulate door, letting himself out.

* * *

Four fancy-sit-down dinners later (Greek on Halsted Street, with valet parking, even), when he drove Fraser home, he put his hand on top of Fraser’s on the seat between them. And Fraser didn’t yank his hand away.

Fraser even – after several minutes of motionlessness – slowly and sensually slid his fingers between Ray’s until they twined together and they were truly holding hands. Then Fraser once again became still as stone, though with a strange kind of tension in his hand, like an animal frozen, poised to flee.

Ray’s heart fluttered and began pounding like he was chasing a suspect and suddenly his jeans were a little too tight. It came as a total shock that, at his age and post-divorce (and post-divorce-revenge-banging anyone and everyone he could when he wasn’t so shitfaced that he couldn’t get it up), he could be that turned on by something so… high school.

Ray subtly shifted in his seat to make room for his thickening cock. He couldn’t remember the last time something so innocent was so erotic. It was maybe the happiest physically uncomfortable fifteen minutes Ray had spent in his life. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t want to give Fraser one iota of an inkling of his discomfort – in case Fraser felt it and yanked his hand back, breaking like the rabbits Dief flushed up when they were almost upon them on their walks in the parks.

When Ray pulled up in front of the Consulate, Fraser squeezed Ray’s hand while his other hand quickly undid his seat belt. With his seat belt hand on the door handle, he swiftly leaned over and pecked Ray’s cheek – _another first_ – then stuttered his gratitude for an evening well spent, while simultaneously extricating his hand from Ray’s and opening the door.

He was out of the car before Ray could return the cheek-kiss, holding the door open and the seatback forward only long enough for Dief - who seemed oddly reproachful and for a split-second reluctant to leave - to also jump out of Ray’s car. Then Fraser fled to Canadian turf.

It was over so fast, Ray’s lips were still pursed to return the cheek-kiss when the Consulate door shut behind Fraser and Dief. Ray opened his mouth a moment, astonished. Then he couldn’t help it: he smiled to himself and tugged at the fly of his jeans to give himself some room.

It was finally actually happening. Out of all the people who threw themselves at Fraser all day every day, who got to hold hands with him? Who got a kiss – even if only on the cheek – from Fraser?

Ray Kowalski. Take that, world.

                                                                                                                                                                                       

                                                                                                                                                                                                  

 


	3. Chapter 3

_(Ray copies Emily Dickinson's "I'm Nobody" into a Mead composition notebook)_

I’m Nobody! Who are you?  
  
Are you – Nobody – too?  
  
Then there’s a pair of us!  
  
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!  
  
How dreary – to be – Somebody!  
  
How public – like a Frog –  
  
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –  
  
To an admiring Bog!

 

_(Ray writes his own poem in the Mead notebook, thinking of Fraser and influenced by Emily Dickinson)_

I’m trying! How ’bout you?

Are you – Trying – too?

What a pair we are!

Tell me – tell me something real.

Getting hopeful – like that thing with feathers!

But slow – like a Turtle –

So do – Something – to keep us going –

So we can both clear this hurdle.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It had been eons since Ray had been forced to take things So. Unbelievably. Slowly. It was actually… nice, in a weird way. He could admit that. And in a slightly worrying way, maybe it was kind of a relief, too. It wasn’t like he had to get to know Fraser. He already knew him pretty well, so that pressure was off. What he didn’t know – well, Ray wondered if it was possible for anyone to know what Fraser didn’t want people to know.

Thinking about it, though, Ray hadn’t realized how quickly most of his previous dates had hopped into bed with him (or, well, into back seats, into bathrooms, into motel rooms…). The contrast with Fraser was startling and kind of sobering. (Maybe ‘dates’ was too generous a word – at least with some – but it wasn’t like anyone had held a gun to Ray’s head, either, so he figured both parties had had an itch to scratch.)

Alone in bed at night with only his hand (defiantly, sometimes, on those rare occasions when Fraser slept on his couch, usually if Ray drank too much and Fraser didn’t walk home with Dief “to get some exercise” but stayed to “keep an eye on” Ray), Ray had wondered (fantasized) whether Fraser was actually as prudish as he acted… or whether he was just an intensely private, secret Don Juan.

It would be typical Fraser to appear innocent as a lamb and later reveal great experience – or porn-star perfection – in bed. Ray could dream. For most of his life, reality had put Ray’s sex fantasies to shame – even when it fell far short, real sex was somehow always better (maybe because when he fantasized, he was always alone). Or maybe he just lacked imagination. Porn wasn’t fantasy; porn was porn, and Ray had yet to meet any real life super-slutty cock-gobbling guys or gals like the ones he’d seen in porn. Maybe they were out there, but you needed to make more money or not be a Chicago flatfoot with experimental hair.

Plus Mrs. Kowalski had raised no dummy: sometimes what you learned about a person came less from what you saw or what they did, and more from what you didn’t see and they didn’t do. Fraser was exactly the kind of self-possessed guy – confident but not cocky, intelligent but not boastful – to shyly avoid public displays of affection, but then scorch your clothes off with technique that quickly had you begging. At least, Ray thought so – even when he wasn’t fantasizing.

Meanwhile, reality was sweetly, if maddeningly, innocent. That made it all the more weirdly exciting. The frustratingly slow build of their physical intimacy seemed as likely to produce a fantastic coming-together as an awkward disaster. Ray dreamed about (jacked off to thoughts of) the former, but planned for the latter. Pretty much anything would be fantastic after all the waiting. Since it was all still theoretical, he looked forward to finding out.

Ray hadn’t expected Fraser to be easy. Not at all. He figured Fraser would be a tough nut to crack. Inches were miles, with Fraser. Every little advance was thrilling.

* * *

The next three dates, Fraser slid out of the GTO after barely grazing Ray’s cheek with his closed, pursed lips. The first time, it once again happened so fast, Ray hadn’t realized what was happening until Fraser was halfway out of the car.

The third time, he reached out for Fraser, but his hand slid off Fraser’s shoulder. It shouldn’t be possible for wool to be that slippery, but it wasn’t the wool so much as Fraser, who always said something appreciative about the evening, mentioned looking forward to their next outing, and thanked Ray for a lovely evening.

Each time, Ray sat in his car staring at the closed Consulate doors, wondering what else he needed to do.

* * *

They attended a free classical concert in Grant Park. The seats were uncomfortable, but Ray knew if either of them had brought a blanket to sit on the lawn, he’d have fallen right asleep and probably snored embarrassingly loudly. As it was, Dief lay on the ground across both their feet, a cozy foot-warmer as night fell and the slightly chill lake front breeze picked up.

Fraser really enjoyed the concert, and the classical music was lilting and relaxing to Ray. He tried not to fall asleep, but he couldn’t help closing his eyes, arms crossed over his chest, chin tilted down. The city noises – traffic, kids far back on the lawn playing, people walking past – were mostly drowned out, but still present as a kind of background noise to the foreground classical music. At intermission, Fraser held their seats and Ray went to get a root beer for Fraser and a beer for himself.

They walked over to Wabash Avenue after the concert to 1) get food and B) let all the traffic clear from the underground parking garage. Fraser knew a falafel place there they’d gone to a couple times. They sat on bar stools looking out the window at passers-by and ate falafel and talked. It was almost like any other evening after work, except knowing that it wasn’t quickened Ray’s pulse.

After they ate, they walked back to Michigan Avenue and down one of the sets of stairs to the underground garage. Ray had kind of forgotten where exactly he’d parked, but of course Fraser had memorized it and they had a wolf to sniff it out, so within a few minutes Dief had hopped into the back seat and they were both buckling their seat belts.

Ray’s one beer at the concert had warmed and relaxed him enough to listen to Fraser without actually listening to Fraser, in that automatic pilot way he had of registering details while not assigning them any importance. Ray drove slowly to the Consulate, feeling vaguely content.

“You’re not listening, are you?” Fraser said softly from the passenger seat.

“What? Yeah, I am. Pentatonic scale–” Ray trailed off when he heard the small snort from Fraser. “What?”

“You _were_ listening,” Fraser said, sounding quietly pleased.

“I told you I was.”

“You just – seemed lost in your own thoughts,” Fraser murmured.

“Not really,” Ray shrugged, pulling up in front of the Consulate. “Just – tonight was really nice.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Fraser’s eyes practically sparkled, the slightest edge of excitement in his voice.

“Sure was,” Ray agreed, smiling. “The skyline, the lake–”

“The music, the two of us,” Fraser interrupted gently, the corners of his lips curving up in a slight, soft smile.

“Yeah,” Ray nodded, suddenly happier, now that he knew how much Fraser had enjoyed it. “Pretty romantic, huh?”

“Indeed,” Fraser murmured.

Ray put the GTO in neutral and pulled up the parking brake. Fraser stiffened only slightly. Ray leaned a little closer. “I had a really nice time,” he began sincerely.

“It was a wonderful evening,” Fraser said, his voice only slightly breathless.

Ray reached out carefully to put a hand on Fraser’s forearm. Fraser leaned across the space between them and pecked Ray’s cheek quickly before pulling back hastily.

“I look forward to this again, Ray,” he said, gently twisting his arm out of Ray’s loose grasp as he opened the passenger door and nodded at Dief in the back seat. “There’s another concert Friday evening, would you…”

Ray’s shoulders slumped as his empty hand came to rest on the seat beside him while Fraser slid out of the car.

“…like to attend that?”

“Um,” Ray sighed, watching the object of his affection retreat yet again. “Sure,” he said tonelessly.

Fraser’s expression faltered only a brief moment before his hale-fellow-well-met mask slid into place. “Tomorrow, remember, we’ve that volunteer day at the Pacific Garden Mission.”

“‘Jesus Saves’,” Ray sighed. “Yeah. I’ll pick you up.”

“Wonderful. See you tomorrow.”

Fraser shut the door carefully, not too hard and not too softly, with the satisfying clunk of the best of Detroit’s finest automotive machinery. Ray watched Fraser’s red back bob up the Consulate steps. Only Dief paused at the top of the steps and looked back at him; Fraser went right in without looking back.

Ray sucked in a breath, then let it out like a deflating tire.

* * *

Ray shook the day off as he left the bullpen. He pushed his arm into one jacket sleeve as he only half-heartedly hassled Frannie; he waved his completed paperwork between her face and her computer monitor before he dumped it in her ‘In’ box. She put a hand over the phone mouthpiece cradled between her head and shoulder and hiss-whined, “Ra-ay!”, turning his name into a two-syllable word.

Ray’s grin was cocky, as he shoved his other arm into the sleeve of his jacket, continuing around her desk. He half-saluted/half-waved at Welsh leaning against the jamb of his office doorway, both hands in his pockets. He nodded silently as Ray headed out and down the stairs to his locker. There Ray checked his hair in the mirror, sniffed his 'pits – antiperspirant still working, yeah – breathed into his hand and decided on a piece of gum (spearmint or cinnamon? he opted for cinnamon, having both in his jacket pocket). He dabbed on a small touch of cologne (you don’t marinate in that shit; plus, with Fraser, less was more) to freshen up before slamming the locker door and spinning the lock.

Tonight, after his overtime, he was picking Fraser up for a fancy dinner in Chinatown. This was totally different than picking Fraser up and having Chinese food delivered. (Ray figured they were fancy dinners if he wore a shirt with buttons, you couldn’t seat yourselves because there was a maître d’ or seating hostess, and the restaurant chairs or booths were upholstered instead of easy-clean hard surfaces.) He wore a nice(r) shirt than last time – at this rate, he was going to run out of nice shirts Fraser hadn’t already seen – and he hadn’t even spilled any coffee or lunch on it today (well, he’d skipped lunch).

Ray was going to put the _real_ moves on Fraser tonight because he was ninety-eight-point-five percent sure Fraser was ready for it. But if he waited for Fraser to make The Move (or A Move, Any Move, for that matter), glaciers would melt, continents would shift, and new mountain ranges would rise first.

That was okay, though. Because Ray had nerve enough for both of them. Or no pride, maybe.

* * *

After dinner, Ray made up his mind that Fraser wasn’t slipping out of his car without getting a real kiss.

During Fraser’s now-usual kiss on his cheek, Ray grabbed Fraser by the back of the neck, right before Fraser could evade his touch and escape from the car. He planted one right on Fraser’s mouth. The back of Fraser’s neck resisted, trying to pull away.

But his lips – his red, strong lips – paused. There was a whistle of air between their faces as Fraser inhaled sharply through his nose. Then he angled his head and his lips twisted hard against Ray’s. Suddenly Fraser’s ardent reciprocation accelerated like an Italian race car, his lips issuing a challenge Ray hadn’t expected. Ray’s heart leaped and began pounding rapidly as his lips happily struggled to keep up with Fraser’s.

It was quickly mutual and his fingers slipped easily into Fraser’s soft, thick hair. They were breathing hard by the time Fraser’s lips parted and the tip of his tongue entered Ray’s watering mouth. Just that tease –

– and then Fraser suddenly wrenched himself back and broke free of Ray’s grip on the back of his neck. Ray’s fingers slipped from the hair at the back of Fraser’s head to his shoulder. In the semi-darkness of the GTO outside the Canadian Consulate, their faces were apart but still close enough to feel their mutual panting. Ray’s heart thundered in his chest. He thought he could feel Fraser’s shoulder trembling under his hand. Or was that his own pulse thrumming through him?

“I-I have unfinished paperwork to attend to,” Fraser murmured shakily. “I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath and said more steadily, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ray.”

Before Ray’s nearly numb lips and frozen throat could respond, Fraser had swiftly leaned in for his customary peck on Ray’s cheek – and then nearly fallen out of the car in his haste to depart. On his third try, muttering apologies, Fraser fumbled the passenger seat forward to let Dief leap out.

He slammed the door much harder than usual and almost tripped in his brisk walk up the steps to the Consulate door, as if he couldn’t jam his Stetson on his head and walk simultaneously. Dief bounced happily alongside him. Fraser didn’t wave – a little departure from their new routine – before he shut the heavy wooden door behind him.

Ray stared bewildered at the wooden Consulate door, shut up tight and silent as if Fraser hadn’t been devouring his tingling mouth a minute before. It had all happened so fast. Ray had seen a chance, taken it, was not rejected but reciprocated, a boundary had been crossed – then the crossing had been rebuffed and the border politely but strongly enforced in a very Canadian way.

But Ray recognized victory when it slipped the tip of a tongue between his lips. He grinned and slammed his fist exultantly against the GTO’s steering wheel. He laid rubber as he left, wanting Fraser to hear, to _know_ there was so much more where _that_ came from.

Ray stumbled up the stairs to his apartment when he got home, unable to wait for the interminably slow elevator. Within scant moments, he had turned the locks and hurriedly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He lurched to his bedroom and collapsed back on his bed, his jeans and briefs shoved to mid-thigh, already stroking his hard cock. Ray jacked off hard and fast, with no finesse – no countdown, just straight to ignition and lift-off – until he came, hoarsely gasping Fraser’s name.

* * *

If Fraser wanted to wait, he did not know the unique patience of Ray Kowalski. In his mid-Stella years Ray had expanded this skill set to apply it more creatively across a wider array of life situations. Before, when he was younger, he had not broadened the use of a patience honed on Stella to encompass Not Saying What Could But Probably Shouldn’t Be Said; she’d accused him once of having to have the last word like a twelve-year-old, and she wasn’t wrong.

But over time Ray’d expanded his use of a patience tried and tested with Stella until Not Saying What Needed To Be Said became Times When Ray Should Really Absolutely Keep His Mouth Shut. The unexpected career benefits of using this skill at work were not only a bonus but had also clued Ray in to the idea that this patience could be deployed in multiple areas of his life.

Sex-wise, it had been decades since Ray had had to, but he could definitely apply that level of patience to waiting Fraser out. He didn’t think Fraser meant to cock-tease; that didn’t seem like Fraser (not that they’d talked about it). More like Fraser didn’t know how to start or stop things. He was as awkward as a teenage boy with hellos at the beginning of an evening out, even worse with the goodbyes.

Since neither of them was female, there weren’t any hard and fast rules on who opened whose door or who pulled out whose chair. Ray had found himself waving away Fraser’s slight hand-wringing hovering on early dates, until Fraser eventually wordlessly accepted that these niceties weren’t necessary.

But Ray doubted Fraser understood the depths and layers of Ray’s patience. Fraser had not known how Catholic school girls of a certain era gave away some sexual favors as if they were nothing, and held onto others like precious treasure – or the way any decent Catholic boyfriend put up with that shit for years because he’d been similarly brainwashed.

Even if Ray hadn’t been so inclined, he’d been trained by the steely best: no one could make The Stella do anything she didn’t want to do, and Mrs. Kowalski had certainly not raised a boy ill-bred enough to try. It was just a happy coincidence that Ray’s sexual patience had worn thin right around the time Stella took her PSATs and a couple summer courses, began to question their indoctrination, and decided to throw off “patriarchy” by buying a copy of “Our Bodies, Our Selves,” going on The Pill, and experimenting sexually. Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect, because even though Ray had always jacked off to cope, recent cases of blue balls had really started to hurt.

That was decades ago though. Dating since the divorce was shockingly different than it had been during their courtship, or even during the couple of “breaks” from their relationship Stella had requested and been granted while away at school. Dating was far more of a meat market post-Stella than Ray had expected, even though he’d heard single cops talk while he was married. Sure, he’d expected it with men – with women, not so much. But that was kind of a welcome bonus, and revenge-banging his hurt, post-Stella way through bars wasn’t really vengeful as much as it was just getting his rocks off with strangers. It felt good, for the first… several.

After a while, it was a little lonely to be subtly or blatantly encouraged to leave, to be point-blank kicked out after a short post-ejaculation snooze, or to wake up to a naked woman dressing in the dark in his bedroom, never to be seen again, no matter how many times Ray called her number. If it even _was_ her number. And always the same “I have to get up early” excuse, whether it was him saying it to ease her (or him) out the door, or having it said to him. Ray told himself _emotional contact, who needs it_ mostly because there was no possibility of any.

With Fraser it was actually kind of nice to not have to worry whether he had condoms with him. There wasn’t any pressure to perform with Fraser, no matter how drunk. Things with Fraser had kind of snuck up on Ray, so taking it slow was both a wonderful novelty and kind of a major relief. Except for the fact that Ray really, really, _really_ wanted to get his hands – and lips, and cock – on Fraser’s naked skin, which he never saw.

* * *

Two fancy dinners ago (Thai, pretty far west on Montrose), he and Fraser had progressed to hot, wet kisses with tongue and finger-sucking in the front seat of Ray’s car. There was groping, too. Sort of.

Ray doubted Fraser would have done it himself. But in the midst of sucking madly on Fraser’s tongue, Ray’s hand, with a mind of its own, had blindly groped for one of Fraser’s hands, and yanked it down into his lap. He’d pressed it needfully around the hot mound of his erection.

When Fraser squeezed him through his jeans, Ray moaned and sucked harder on Fraser’s tongue. Fraser’s other hand had moved from Ray’s shoulder to his jaw, then, caressing. Fraser had reclaimed his own tongue and then his moist lips and slightly sand-paper-ish five o’clock shadow had trailed down Ray’s jaw to gently kiss and scrape against Ray’s neck below his ear. His other thumb traced Ray’s wet lips while the hand in Ray’s lap stroked and squeezed Ray’s erection over his jeans.

Ray’s hips bucked up, pushing his contained erection into Fraser’s squeezes and strokes. He sucked Fraser’s thumb into his mouth, tasting the slight salt of sweat and the faintest hint of soap from the marble bathroom at the restaurant. Fraser’s thumb had withdrawn then, but the tips of his index and middle fingers had traced Ray’s lips, feather-light, while his mouth moved further down Ray’s neck.

The sandpaper of his stubble there tightened Ray’s belly. Ray eagerly kissed and sucked the tips of Fraser’s fingers. He moved his hands down Fraser’s sides, down the warm, red wool, fumbling for the edge of Fraser’s tunic, trying to slip his hands under it –

Fraser had practically leaped out of Ray’s arms, all the way to the opposite side of the car. Ray’s hands had closed on air, caught and held tight at the wrists by Fraser’s. Ray’s mouth was still open and his eyes still closed, it had all happened so fast.

He closed the former and opened the latter to see the windows fogged, his wrists in Fraser’s iron grip, and Fraser’s lush mouth suddenly a flat line beneath his flared nostrils. Somewhere along the way, Fraser’s hair had been slightly mussed. His expression was a strange mix of wild-eyed and stern-jawed. They both breathed hard while Ray blinked and tried to think of something to say.

“Uh–”

He trailed off, watching his hands shake between them, wondering if he was shaking, or Fraser’s hands on his wrists were shaking.

“–Ray–” Fraser had said breathlessly before he cut himself off. He shook his head once, then a second time, as if trying to clear it and took two deep breaths.

The thrum of _want_ in Ray’s cock throbbed hotly, expanding to his stomach, his chest, his heart – because of Fraser holding his wrists? wait, put a pin in that – and Ray’s heart beat unsteadily a moment, then rushed to catch back up.

“Fraser, I–”

“I’m sorry, Ray,” Fraser interrupted.

His voice was calmer than a moment ago. It was also smoother than his half-tense, half-self-conscious expression or his slightly mussed hair – or his eyes. They flicked from Ray’s eyes to his lips to his hands, then to Ray’s lap and to the fogged windows on all sides around them. They made the same circuit again, as if everything they looked at was slightly embarrassing and they couldn’t stay for long. Fraser wouldn’t look Ray in the eye.

“I–” Fraser began again, but fell silent even more quickly than last time.

Ray was ready now. His eyes had never moved from Fraser’s, taking in the whole scenario, especially Fraser’s hands encircling his wrists like a barrier between their now-separate bodies.

“Fraser, do not–” Ray spoke softly and slowly but distinctly. “–make me accuse you of lying. We both know you don’t have that much paperwork to finish. You never do. You _never_ do. You’re not me.”

Fraser glanced at Ray guiltily, then released Ray’s wrists. He shrank back against the passenger door, facing Ray, and attempted to smooth down his hair and straighten his uniform tunic without looking at Ray. His face – what Ray could see of it, tucked down and away – had that bland mask of prevarication, of butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

But then, it could also be that blank mask Fraser got when he actually wasn’t being deliberately obtuse, really wasn’t up to anything, and something had gone right over his head. He flicked some imaginary lint off his uniform and finally met Ray’s steady gaze.

“Very well, I won’t lie,” Fraser said, a slight tremor in his voice.

He did not explain further but touched the brim of his hat where it rested on the dashboard as if to reassure himself it was there, or to gain strength from it. Then he folded his hands in his lap primly. Ray chuckled and Fraser glanced at him, affronted.

“Fraser.” Ray paused. “You can just say it,” he added gently.

“I don’t know what you mean, Ray,” Fraser replied, his tone and posture now as stiff as his expression.

Ray reached out and put one warm hand over Fraser’s folded hands. He waited a beat. Fraser’s hands slowly loosened. Ray realized they were moist. Fraser unfolded his hands then, and one slid away from Ray’s hand. It moved behind Fraser, as if reaching for the passenger door handle.

Ray grasped Fraser’s remaining hand tightly, feeling how damp it suddenly was. Fear, Ray suddenly realized. This was fear, or – nerves? Embarrassment? What?

“You can just tell me to ‘slow down’, Fraser,” Ray said as lightly as he could manage.

But he forced his fingers between Fraser’s despite their sweating. He watched Fraser’s other hand grope stealthily behind him. When he twined his fingers tightly together with Fraser’s, Fraser’s other hand stopped moving. Fraser was very still for a long moment. Then he spoke.

“I can?” he asked. His voice was small, relieved, almost plaintive.

Ray blinked at the tone of Fraser’s voice, the expression on Fraser’s face, his body language. He had forgotten, in the heat of the moment, that he might have a lot more experience and a far greater comfort level in these situations than Fraser did.

“Yeah,” Ray nodded easily. “Tell me to slow down, stop, whatever. We’re–” He hesitated. “Too old for anything less than honest, right?” he finished softly.

Fraser nodded. His whole body seemed to go limp with relief. “I–” He paused. “I didn’t mean to – I didn’t want to–” He trailed off.

“You didn’t mean to…?” Ray squeezed Fraser’s hand again. He watched Fraser’s other hand move from the door behind him to grasp the dashboard, touch the brim of the Stetson, creep back to his lap.

“Excite you too much,” Fraser completed the sentence haltingly.

There was the tiniest false note of something in there somewhere; Ray knew Fraser well enough to know there was something he wasn’t saying. But he let it go.

“Too late. _Way_ too late for that. I think you felt how excited I was,” Ray smiled, tugging Fraser’s hand up to his mouth and pressing his lips to the knuckles. “You really turn me on, Fraser.”

He opened Fraser’s palm and placed it against his cheek, leaning into it.

“Oh,” Fraser said nervously. He dropped his gaze.

Ray turned his cheek and pressed his lips into Fraser’s palm before releasing it. Fraser was still on the other side of the front seat, but not like he desperately needed to Escape. Right. Now. His freed hand settled beside the other in his lap again, fidgeting.

Ray shifted in his seat until he faced forward again. He watched Fraser tense out of the corner of his eye, but Ray merely turned his key in the ignition, started the car, and turned on the front and back defoggers. He tugged at the thigh of his jeans to loosen the crotch, though his erection was slightly softening.

Fraser stiffened and actually seemed to pale for a moment. He grabbed his Stetson off Ray’s dashboard and held it in his lap like he was trying to cover his own arousal, not that Ray or anyone outside could’ve seen an erection under the puffy pants and Serge tunic, even if the windows weren’t fogged. Fraser looked away.

“Hey, nothing’s changed, all right?” Ray asked a little anxiously. “You and me are still gonna watch hockey and argue over curling. We’ll eat take-out in my living room with Dief like before. If it’s late and I drank too much, you crash on my couch, just like before. Fraser, I’d never _make_ you do anything. Or expect anything. Not that I could – pretty sure you could take me – but, point is, I wouldn’t. You get that, right?”

Fraser nodded. “I know.” He fidgeted with the brim of his hat.

“Okay, good. Because I don’t want any of that to change.”

The corner of Fraser’s mouth turned up slightly. “Agreed, Ray.”

Ray relaxed, the potentially dire moment seeming to have passed. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Very much so. I just–” Fraser hesitated, his gaze sliding away.

“Hey,” Ray said, catching Fraser’s nearest hand in his. “You take your time. This–” He squeezed Fraser’s hand. “–is really great. I am having a great time, Fraser. If I’m not, I’ll let you know. I will let you know. Take as long as you need.” He nodded at Fraser. “I’ll wait. There’s nobody else I want.”

Fraser’s mouth inexplicably straightened into a flat line again and Ray unhappily wondered why.

“No one?” Fraser asked, voice detached and cool.

“No one,” Ray said emphatically. He pulled Fraser closer by his forearm, looking him in the eye. “No. One. Got that?”

Fraser nodded, his face close to Ray’s. “All right,” he said. His gaze searched Ray’s face, but he seemed satisfied. He attempted to pull away then, but Ray held his forearm firmly.

“Where’s my kiss?” Ray asked softly, slightly nervous.

Fraser got a bit of that wild-eyed look for a moment, like a trapped animal. Ray thrust his cheek out towards Fraser to show what he meant, and let go of Fraser’s forearm. He put both his hands on the steering wheel. The windows were nearly totally clear of condensation now. Fraser glanced at Ray’s hands on his steering wheel, at Ray’s cheek close to his face.

“Oh,” he murmured.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Ray’s cheek. This time it wasn’t just a quick peck. He nuzzled Ray’s cheek a moment. Ray leaned appreciatively into it, relieved.

“I’d rather that I touch you, than you touch me, below the waist, when we... kiss,” Fraser murmured against Ray’s cheek.

His warm breath and the vibration of his voice against Ray’s skin raised goosebumps on Ray’s upper arms. Ray wasn’t sure if it was Fraser’s words, his hesitation before the word “kiss,” or his breath against Ray’s skin that made him shiver and made the root of his cock ache as blood pumped into it again.

“Yeah, okay,” Ray mumbled weakly, glad and slightly dazed all over again at Fraser’s effect on him, at the deliciousness of savoring things slowly. “W-we can do that.”

“Wonderful,” Fraser said, his lips moving sensually against Ray’s cheek while pronouncing that one word. He kissed Ray’s cheek softly once more, then drew back and looked at Ray a moment before he opened the car door. His gaze was direct and his eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness. There were spots of color on his cheeks.

“Good night, Ray,” Fraser murmured, a shy smile playing at the corners of his lips as if it wasn’t certain it should be there.

“This isn’t fair, Fraser,” Ray sighed, but he smiled too. “You’re killing me.”

“What isn’t fair?” Fraser asked immediately. The anxious note in his voice gave him away, as if the flattening of his mouth into a line wouldn’t have.

“I just mean, your puffy pants are roomy.” Ray gestured at Fraser’s uniform pants. “Your uniform covers the fly of your pants.” He gestured down at his much tighter jeans, at the way his erection made them bulge again. “I can’t hide anything.”

Fraser looked around Ray’s car. “There’s a Sun-Times newspaper on the floor of the back seat from several weeks ago. You can carry that in front of you,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Thanks for reminding me I’m a slob,” Ray said dryly.

“I wasn’t,” Fraser said a bit defensively. “You could take your jacket off and fold it over your arm.”

“Maybe I’ll do that,” Ray sighed.

Fraser nodded, like the problem was solved. His small smile was carefully cheerful and relieved. “See you tomorrow, Ray. Good night.” He looked back at Dief in the back seat. “Dief,” he mouthed exaggeratedly for the deaf half-wolf, before he turned and opened the passenger door.

“G’night, Frase,” Ray replied.

He watched Fraser get out and ease the front seat back for Dief to exit the car. Fraser shut the door and walked slowly up the stairs to the door of the Canadian Consulate, Dief at his side. They paused before the door and Fraser waved briefly at Ray, then unlocked the door and went inside.

Ray took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and then put the car in gear and drove away.

* * *

After another fancy sit-down dinner (Italian, in Little Italy, some place Francesca had recommended but where, to the best of her knowledge, Vecchio had never taken Fraser), they were at it again in the front seat of the GTO. Their kissing was hungry and needful; Fraser’s mouth devoured Ray’s. As previously requested, Ray kept his hands above Fraser’s waist.

Then Fraser’s teeth scraped Ray’s neck just this side of vampire. His hands roamed all over Ray: stroked firmly down Ray’s thighs, squeezed Ray’s shoulder, slid up Ray’s back, combed through the short hair at the back of Ray’s head. Fraser put a hand on Ray’s jaw, angling his mouth _just so_ , the perfect slant for deep, probing, wet kisses.

He held Ray’s mouth while his other hand kept coming back to Ray’s hard cock in his jeans: stroking and squeezing it, slowly and gently at first, then bolder and firmer. There was a definite possibility Ray had a wet spot on the front of his best jeans. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been doing this, but he was starting to feel a little breathless – probably because all the blood in his brain had diverted to his cock. The steering wheel and the gear shift were slightly annoying, yet no real obstacle to their make-out session. The car windows were once again completely fogged; any passers-by hoping for a free show would only see impenetrable condensation.

Fraser’s strokes and squeezes of Ray’s jeans-clad cock became firmer and faster. He released Ray’s jaw with his other hand, still devouring Ray’s mouth, and slid his now-free hand carefully and cleverly between and behind Ray’s balls for short strokes. He quickly synchronized the rhythm of both hands so that his strokes over Ray’s taint matched his strokes of Ray’s cock, his hand skidding over the – yep, that was definitely a wet spot – and then both hands sped up.

Ray jerked his mouth away from Fraser’s to gasp and moan. “Fraser–” He gulped, feeling inevitability climb up inside him. “If you don’t stop I’m going to–”

Fraser stopped moving, removed his hands – removed? _now_?! – and placed them firmly on Ray’s upper arms. His kisses were suddenly close-mouthed, gentle and calm.

“Uh, God,” Ray groaned loudly, the sudden loss of sensation making him twitch and thrust involuntarily. “That’s – worse,” he moaned, the throb of want excruciating. “Fraser, I – please can we go inside? Do this on a couch, for chrissakes? I really need t–”

Fraser was on the other side of the car before Ray could finish the word, Ray’s hands closing once again on air. He thrust up into nothing, his jeans moist and impossibly tight, the hot throb of need desperate for release.

“I’m sorry, Ray,” Fraser’s voice came, flustered, across the front seat of the GTO like it was a million miles away.

“Fraser.” Ray wanted to scream with frustration. Had he said he could wait? That Fraser could take all the time he wanted? What insanity had led him to say _that_? He was a grown man – an old man; he wasn’t a kid in his twenties anymore; he _couldn’t_ wait; he could only go through this so many times–

“Look, Frase, I need to–” Ray squeezed his eyes shut tight, took a deep breath, held it, tried not to move, and slowly exhaled. Better, slightly, but his balls ached, his cock throbbed, his jeans were looser, and– “God, this hurts,” Ray groaned again softly. “My balls feel so…”

“Full?” Fraser whispered.

Ray leaned back hard in his seat and gripped the steering wheel hard. “Yes. They really need to–”

“Ejaculate?” Fraser prompted.

“Yes!” Ray snapped, opening his eyes and glaring at Fraser.

“Perhaps you should do something about that then,” Fraser suggested mildly.

Ray squinted at him, uncertain if he was going crazy or if his partner had been replaced by a pod person in the last few minutes.

“Wait – _I_ should do something about that? I should? Like I got this way _all by myself_? I would never let it get this far, by myself.”

“You wouldn’t?” Fraser asked softly. He seemed dead serious.

Ray thought about it as he looked at Fraser, and maybe a few things clicked into place. “No,” he replied tightly, suppressing the implied _are you nuts?_ fairly successfully, he thought. “Do you?”

“Sometimes,” Fraser answered with a slight shrug.

Ray’s eyes shifted down to Fraser’s lap, and then he looked in the rear view when he heard Dief moving in the back seat. Fraser seemed to mouth something as Ray looked for Dief, but when Ray glanced back at Fraser, his expression was calm and bland.

“I, uh, we – should talk about this, Fraser. But first, I need to do something about it. I’d like your cooperation. Participation, even.”

Ray tried to keep his tone light, but he was pretty sure desperation and maybe even crazed frustration had crept into his voice. Maybe Fraser didn’t get this. His recent statement seemed to imply familiarity or regularity with levels of self-denial and deprivation on the brink of orgasm that Ray hadn’t previously imagined, let alone expected in this context.

Sure, Ray dimly recalled some of that – tantric sex, it was called – in his and Stella’s copy of the Kama Sutra. But they hadn’t actually _done_ it; they were both too sensual, too undisciplined, too greedy for release, and it was mostly for Stella to look at the pictures and read to get all revved up so she could attack Ray when he got home.

But Ray was pretty sure Fraser wasn’t kidding or teasing – or cock-teasing – him, but that would require conversation. Conversation that was way above his current level of thinking.

“I’m afraid I can’t participate, Ray.” Fraser ducked his head, but when he looked up, his eyes were shiny and dark, like holes in his head. Damn if he didn’t sound truly regretful – torn up, even.

“I… you… what?” Ray wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“I have to go. Tonight was wonderful.” Fraser leaned impulsively across the space between them and pressed a moist kiss to Ray’s cheek. He was, by now, expert at opening the passenger door without even looking at it. He did so, holding his Stetson in his lap even as he did so. He half-backed, half-slid out of the car. “Good night, Ray.”

“Fraser–”

The door shut in Ray’s face. He lurched across the front seat to open the glove box, ignoring Fraser’s dash up the Consulate steps. Ray quickly fumbled his jeans open with one hand and a handful of paper napkins out of the glove box with the other. He dropped some napkins on the seat beside him, transferred the remainder to his other hand.

Fuck whoever walked by and saw him. He’d flash his badge if someone called the cops. His jaw set grimly, Ray opened his pants the rest of the way and took himself in one hand, paper napkins in the other. The tip of his cock was wet, and as he squeezed the shaft, a bit more pre-come oozed out.

Ray slid his palm heavily across the wet head, the friction and drag like a long lick. He let out a deep, involuntary groan. He slid his hand down to the shaft again – not slick enough, not that it mattered. He started jacking himself hard, knowing after the first stroke that it would all be over miserably, pathetically fast. Was that good (because Fraser turned him on so much)? Or was it bad (because he shouldn’t have such a hair trigger)?

Who gave a fuck. He thrust into his fast-jacking hand, eyes squeezed shut tight, imagining Fraser’s hand doing it to him, and came, hard, _so_ hard, into the paper napkins in his other hand.

When it was over, Ray wiped his cock dry with all the paper napkins and crumpled them into a big ball and threw it on the floor of the car. He relaxed back against the seat, spent and exhausted. He’d shut his eyes for just a minute and then head home.

He woke to a tap on the window, realizing simultaneously that he’d fallen asleep and that his pants were still open. Thanks to shrinkage, though, he was more or less tucked back into his pants.

“Ray?” Fraser said through the driver’s side window. “Are you all right? Why are you still here?”

Ray sat up, pulling his shirt down over his open pants. “What are you doing out? It’s, like, one in the morning.”

Fraser jerked his head to the right, and there was Diefenbaker, snuffling along the ground. “If I let him out unattended at this time of night, he won’t return until morning.” Fraser cocked his head. “And you?”

“I fell asleep,” Ray growled. _Like you don’t know why_ , he thought savagely, pulling his open jacket closed around him, but not zipping it.

“We didn’t have anything to drink,” Fraser frowned. “Are you feverish? Do you need to lie down? You could come ins–”

“No, Frase, that’s okay,” Ray said tightly. “Thanks for waking me up. I’ll go home. I’m awake now.”

He twisted the keys in the ignition, only to hear the starter scrape loudly because the engine was already running. He and Fraser both winced simultaneously. Who knew how much gas he’d burned, sitting here asleep all this time with the engine running.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ray said, trying to unclench his jaw.

“Good night, Ray,” Fraser said, straightening up beside the GTO as Ray put it in first gear, stepped on the accelerator, and headed home.

Ray resentfully wondered how long Fraser had stood beside his car before he’d knocked on the window. Not like he was in any condition to pay attention to his surroundings at that point. A bad situation for someone with a badge and gun. Christ.

He left the balled-up napkins on the floor of the GTO for days, passive-aggressively wondering if Fraser’s super-sniffer capabilities would ferret out the scent of human semen. Fraser didn’t remark on it, though. He didn’t pick it up, either, although it was in the passenger side foot-well, and he normally never left any garbage there. Not that Ray normally ever did, either. It was queer that Fraser didn’t pick it up, though. Ray wondered if Fraser somehow knew how he’d used the napkins.

* * *

Another date, another night, another make-out session in the front seat of his car with Fraser’s hands all over him making him thrust and throb and _want_ , and his hands above Fraser’s waist.

“Good night, Ray,” Fraser murmured softly, pulling out of Ray’s grasp.

“What?” Ray protested too loudly. “No, no, don’t go, Frase. Stay,” Ray said, his hands stroking and holding the back of Fraser’s neck, pulling his mouth back to Ray’s.

Fraser came back for a few more kisses, but then wriggled out of Ray’s grasp. “Good night,” he repeated.

“Uh,” Ray said inarticulately, his hand sliding down Fraser’s arm as Fraser got out of the car. “Good night,” Ray said unwillingly as Fraser shut the car door and trotted up the Consulate steps.

Ray grabbed his hard cock through his jeans and held it. He curled over it, his forehead pressed against the steering wheel. He didn’t take it out, he didn’t rub it, he just grasped it through his jeans, tightly, until it started to soften.

* * *

Fraser’s teeth were in his neck, not hard enough to leave marks, but hard enough to make the hair on the back of Ray’s neck and his upper arms stand up. Hard enough to make his cock throb like a second heart, to make him pant and snort into the air over Fraser’s soft, thick hair.

He was sucking the faint taste of Ethiopian spices off Fraser’s fingers – who had this weird fetish of wanting to put his fingers in Ray’s mouth; lacking anything better to suck besides Fraser’s tongue, Ray was okay with that – and Fraser’s other hand was, as usual, moving over his thighs, then his cock, then sliding around Ray’s flank to slip under his jacket and shirt, roaming hot and strong over his back, sliding down into the back of his pants to not-quite cup Ray’s ass before starting all over again at Ray’s thigh.

Ray thrust and trembled when Fraser’s hand descended again to his thighs. They’d been working a horrible missing persons case the last three days and nights. A little girl had gone missing from the South Side. It had just ended tonight with an all-too-rare recovery of the missing little girl, alive, from her parole-violating bio-dad, who’d snatched her on the way home from school and – after trips to the zoo, Toys R Us, a motel, the latest kiddie blockbuster matinee movie, Chuck E Cheese pizza parlor, and another night in a motel – had taken her up to his mother’s in Milwaukee, where the Milwaukee cops were waiting for them. So Ray had hardly slept, barely showered, and he sure hadn’t had time to jerk off.

But tonight was date night, and Fraser had made an exception in his demarcation demands that they not date on work nights, because this date night had been pre-planned, and work spilling into their weekend was unavoidable when it was a missing kid.

Now Fraser was touching him, groping him, stroking him, biting his neck, devouring his mouth –

“Fraser,” Ray said hoarsely, breaking their kiss. Fraser’s teeth went straight back to Ray’s neck. Ray couldn’t help himself, he leaned into the scrape and bite, like some kind of masochistic– “Frase, we gotta – I need to–”

“What, Ray?” Fraser’s murmur became a growl into Ray’s neck as he dragged his teeth up to Ray’s jaw. “What do you need…?”

His hand settled hard on Ray’s clothed cock again, stroking it, and Ray lurched, too close, too close, tooclosetooclosetooclose – He shoved Fraser roughly away, who backed, surprised, against the passenger door of the GTO.

“The fuck, Fraser. You know what I need. How much do you expect me to _take_?” Ray sounded half-angry, half-hysterical – even to himself.

Before Fraser could reach for the goddamned door handle, Ray shoved a shaking hand into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and took out the small velvet-covered box.

“Here.” He thrust it at Fraser and now his hands shook for a completely different reason. “I’ll _marry_ you. I’d kneel if we weren’t in the car and it wouldn’t permanently damage me right now. I know it’s not official and it isn’t recognized legally. But we don’t own property together. An’ neither of us have kids. I can make anyone I want my beneficiary. There’s a Unitarian church in Boys Town. They’ve been marrying couples for a while. I know it’s not official…”

Fraser had opened the small velvet box. It was dark in the car and he squinted at the ring inside.

“How did you know my ring size?” he asked softly.

“Educated guess. What?” Ray shrugged shyly. “Your fingers are in my mouth a lot. We can resize it, if it’s the wrong size.”

Fraser took the ring out and looked at it.  
  
“It’s a gold and titanium alloy,” Ray said breathlessly.

Fraser was giving no indications of his feelings about the ring either way and Ray was literally starting to sweat, plus his erection had started to wilt. His balls ached, but the bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach was starting to dwarf that. Fraser put the ring on his left ring finger. He looked at it, then looked at Ray, but quickly looked back at the ring.

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly. Ray looked closer at Fraser. Fraser’s chin was – was it trembling?

“Look, I – I didn’t mean to back you into a–”

“Ray,” Fraser began weakly, but stopped.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“I know titanium isn’t typical,” Ray began haltingly. “But gold is soft. And you’re so, so, active. They said titanium is really strong but light. Almost indestructible. It won’t dent like gold…” Ray trailed off, and then started again. “It’s non-reactive to all kinds of chemicals, like gold. And it’s hyp- hyper- non-allergenic. I figured, all your wildly bizarre ways of–”

“Yes,” Fraser said suddenly, his voice shaky. He snorted oddly, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose for a moment while he swallowed several times in quick succession. Then he wiped his eyes with his non-ring-bearing right hand.

“Fraser?” Ray wasn’t sure what Fraser was saying yes to.

“Are we engaged now?” Fraser interrupted, hiccuping. “I’ve never been engaged. That I know of. Well, how could one be engaged and not know it; that’s ridiculous, of course, and I–”

Fraser’s hysterical babble stopped as quickly as it started. He looked at the ring on his hand.

“I can get you a better one, if this isn’t good enough,” Ray mumbled.

“It’s fine.” Fraser’s voice was strangled. He cleared his throat. “It’s perfect,” he said more clearly. “It’s beautiful.”

“You can be honest,” Ray said carefully. “If you don’t like it, we can go together, pick out matching–”

“Ray,” Fraser whispered, tucking his chin to his chest and wiping his eyes again. He looked up, his face oddly haunted. “A rusty ring tab from an old beer can that barely fit over my first knuckle would be beautiful, coming from you. It would mean the same thing.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

“Fraser,” Ray breathed and threw his arms around Fraser, dragging him into a fierce hug. “Fraser. God. You’re mine. I’m yours.” He pulled back a little and grabbed Fraser’s chin for a kiss.

Fraser opened his mouth to the tip of Ray’s tongue and then Ray was devouring Fraser’s mouth. Ray’s hands soon roved well past Fraser’s waist and down to his thighs – _his thighs!_ Ray thought in the back of his head. But then Fraser shoved him away, grabbing his wrists.

“Ray, this changes nothing,” Fraser said breathlessly.

“I – this – what?”

“We’re only engaged,” Fraser said earnestly. “We’re not married.”

“We’re – wait, _what_?” Ray wasn’t sure he’d heard quite right.

“I’m sorry,” Fraser murmured, and he did sound sorry. His hands gripped Ray’s wrists tightly.

“Well, first thing tomorrow, let’s set it up!” Ray said breathlessly. “I already talked to the priest – pastor – what _ever_  Unitarians are–”

“Ray. Ray. Ray.” Fraser gently shook Ray’s wrists. “Before we do that, there’s… there are things about me you don’t know.”

“You mean, aside from all the other things you didn't tell me before you did them, like licking electrical sockets, tasting toxic waste, effortlessly learning how to play high stakes poker in one night, and _win_ , the wildly bizarre ways you endanger–”

“I can’t consummate this relationship, Ray,” Fraser quietly attempted to interrupt.

“ –my life, post-hypnotic suggestions to superior officers, outdated underwater breathing techniques even Coast Guard trainers discourage – wait, _what_ did you just say?”

“I can’t,” Fraser repeated patiently, slower and articulating more clearly, as if Ray were deaf like Dief, “consummate our relationship.”

Ray blinked at him and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Everything seemed to slow down the way time seemed to suddenly expand right before a horrific accident – allowing the victims all the terrifying slow-motion time in the world to see the disaster coming at them, never enough to avoid it.

“I – you – you can’t – what?” Ray mumbled when he finally found his voice, but it was more like a squeak.

Fraser’s expression was sympathetic and regretful but resolute. “I can’t. Consummate. This relationship.” He enunciated clearly, if quietly.

Ray stared at Fraser, dumbfounded. All the excitement that had made his heart soar a few minutes before drained out of him. He wrenched his hands out of Fraser’s grip, and Fraser let him.

“I’m sorry,” Fraser murmured, looking down. He brushed a thumb under one of his eyes.

“Fraser, I – I didn’t…” Ray had no idea what to say. His palms were damp and he wiped them up and down his thighs. “Is that why you never – why you want to touch me, but I can’t touch you, and–”

“I should never have let it get this far,” Fraser whispered into his own lap. “I apologize. But, but… I truly do enjoy our evenings. And I do – I _do_ love you. I am given to understand, however–” he sniffed and swallowed, swiping under his other eye – “that love isn’t always enough, no matter the depth.” He swallowed again, and when he spoke his voice trembled. “I’ll understand if this changes your feel–”

“Shut up,” Ray barked. “Stop right there, Fraser. Do not say another word.” He wiped his palms on his thighs again.

“This should have been a joyous occasion,” Fraser whispered, ignoring Ray’s command. “I’m–”

“It’s – it’s okay. We’ll figure something out. There are, there are – I know guys who’ve been shot in the back. There’s things – some of them, their wives – there’s things we can–”

“Ray. No. I’m sorry. It’s not an option.” Fraser sounded absolutely miserable.

“Okay,” Ray said numbly. “It’s – it’s okay, Fraser. It doesn’t change anything. I’ll–”

“Ray. Don’t. You should,” Fraser’s voice hitched slightly, “seriously think about this, about what you’re entering into. You’re–”

Fraser cut himself off and reached out blindly, still looking down. He felt for Ray’s upper arm, slid his hand – the hand with Ray’s ring on it – up to Ray’s shoulder, to his neck, his jaw. He cupped Ray’s jaw, and Ray leaned into it. Fraser lifted his head and looked at Ray, his eyes moist.

“You’re a s-sensual man,” Fraser’s voice quavered. “I was wrong to let things go this far. I – I should’ve, should’ve told you, long before now, but I…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I still _feel_ things, and you’re so _responsive_ …” He trailed off.

Ray clenched his jaw. He looked at Fraser’s mouth, that mouth whose kisses made him both weak and hard with desire. He leaned harder into Fraser’s strong hand, cupping his jaw, and looked at Fraser’s other hand.

“Okay, Fraser,” he murmured. “What should I do?”

“You should…” Fraser’s voice trembled, but he looked Ray in the eye. “You should think hard about whether or not you really want to be with me. Knowing what you know now.”

Ray swallowed and closed his eyes. He shook his head, and Fraser’s hand slid from his jaw.

“What?” Fraser asked, his voice hushed as if he expected the worst.

Ray opened his eyes and stared steadily at Fraser. “I _am_ with you.”

Fraser gulped back whatever he was about to say and then he swallowed too. “Perhaps you should reconsider.”

Ray closed his eyes and thought for a long moment. Then he opened his eyes.

“Too late, Fraser.” He groped around for the velvet box on the seat between them. He found it, closed it, and stuck it in Fraser’s hands. “Let me know if it needs to be resized.”

Fraser’s expression was a cross between terrified and overjoyed. “I will, Ray,” he said solemnly, and nodded. “I still wish you would think seriously about this,” he added carefully. “Will you – will you please do that? For me?” Fraser’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Ray nodded. “I will.” He hesitated. “But I don’t think it’s gonna change anything.” He half-smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

“Just… think about it,” was Fraser’s pensive reply. “For a while.”

“I will,” Ray said seriously.

“Ray, I–” Fraser hesitated, looking down at the box in his hands, the ring on his finger. “There are regulations, safety regulations, regarding the wearing of jewelry by RCMP officers.” He swallowed audibly.

Ray’s heart sank. “What are you saying?”

“It’s to prevent injuries such as degloving injuries, avulsions, accidental amputations–”

“You’re not going to wear it,” Ray said flatly, a statement, not a question. A vein began to throb in his temple and he put a hand to his head, feeling like he was about to get a headache.

“I am!” Fraser protested softly. “I will. But not during work hours. I’ll – I have a chain, I’ll wear it around my neck–”

“You don’t want anyone to know, do you.” Ray’s voice was thin and reedy.

“That isn’t it at all,” Fraser argued earnestly. “You yourself just mentioned – you said my ‘wildly bizarre’–”

“If you don’t want anyone to know, just say so, Fraser,” Ray sighed, slumping back in the driver’s seat.

“Ray,” Fraser said sharply, grabbing Ray’s forearm. “That is not why I won’t wear it during work hours. And I will wear it.” He paused. “If anyone asks, however, I will not say from whom I received the ring. Protecting your privacy, your – reputation.”

Ray opened his mouth to speak, and then snapped it shut without saying anything. He wrenched his arm free of Fraser’s grasp, his chest tight. “You _ashamed_ of me or something?”

“No! Just until we make it official, Ray, and you’ve had time to think seriously about this commitment,” Fraser explained. The plaintive note in his voice shouldn’t have made a difference to Ray, but the tightness in his chest eased.

“Fine,” Ray sighed. “Not like I have any choice, right?”

“You do,” Fraser murmured. “I’m trying to give you one. Time to think this over.”

Ray looked at him. “You really believe ‘thinking it over’ is gonna change my feelings for you?” He shook his head.

Fraser’s expression was somber. “It might,” he said, his voice suddenly too even and composed.

Ray shook his head again. “I thought I was the cynical one.” He exhaled a long slow breath. “Not likely. You’re already under my skin.”

Fraser looked down at the ring on his finger, and then tucked the velvet box into his pocket. He looked up at Ray again, and this time when his hand reached out to grasp Ray’s, Ray didn’t shake it off.

“And you’re under mine,” Fraser whispered.

They slid closer together for another kiss, but then Fraser tucked his face into Ray’s neck, his arms stealing around Ray. Ray slid his arms around Fraser, too, and they held each other.

Fraser’s arms tightened almost uncomfortably, and his breath came hot, fast, and shallow against Ray’s neck. But when they pulled apart a few minutes later, his eyes were dry.


	5. Chapter 5

_(one of Leonard Cohen's songs with which Ray identifies)_

I know you really loved me  
  
But, you see, my hands were tied  
  
And I know it must have hurt you,  
  
It must have hurt your pride.  
  
I dreamed about you, baby.  
  
It was just the other night.  
  
Most of you was naked  
  
Ah but some of you was light.  
  
Ah baby, let’s get married,  
  
We’ve been alone too long.  
  
Let’s be alone together.  
  
Let’s see if we’re that strong.

 

_(a second poem Ray wrote in his Mead composition notebook, in the style of Leonard Cohen)_

Yeah I know you love me  
  
And it makes me feel tied up in knots –  
  
It’s too late for me not to love you  
  
So maybe I’ll die of waiting and the hots.  
  
I have these dreams about you  
  
That are so good and so bad  
  
Because I imagine you naked  
  
But we’re not having what we haven’t had.  
  
We’re engaged dammit, let’s get married.  
  
This is half-way for way too long.  
  
So you can’t do what you can’t do,  
  
But I still won’t give up on you. I can be THAT strong.


	6. Chapter 6

“That was more banjos and fiddles than I ever saw together in one place,” Ray said as he drove. “Or heard,” he added.

“But toe-tappingly entertaining, wasn’t it?” Fraser said happily.

“If you like that sort of thing,” Ray smiled, glad to see Fraser had enjoyed himself.

“I do – although I don’t consider it accurate or entirely fair to call it The American Music Festival. Your country has no monopoly on folk music created with acoustic stringed instruments.”

“Probably not, no,” Ray agreed easily.

They pulled up in front of the Consulate, and this time Fraser turned toward Ray.

“Thank you, Ray, for a wonderful evening,” he said, smiling, eyes shining.

“You’re welcome, Fraser. I thought you’d like it,” Ray grinned back.

“You know me too well,” Fraser murmured.

There was a pause, during which Ray didn’t move.  
  
“Yeah, I guess I do, Frase,” Ray agreed after a quiet moment.

Fraser looked at him a little quizzically. “Ray?” he asked hesitantly. His hands twitched in his lap, but he didn’t reach for Ray.

Ray stretched one arm across the back of the seat. “I’m just glad you enjoyed it. But if I don’t hear a banjo or a fiddle again for like six months, it won’t be too soon.”

Fraser smiled, but ducked his head. “You’re – kind to tolerate music you’re not particularly fond of, just for me,” he said to his lap.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Ray mused. “Stella and I even tried square-dancing.”

Fraser’s head snapped up. “No!” His expression was astonished.

“Yeah,” Ray smiled. “Believe it or not. I can do-si-do and allemande-left.”

“I would never have guessed,” Fraser admitted.

“Well, it’s been a while. I don’t know how good at it I’d be now.” Ray scratched his jaw. “It was fun, though.”

“I bet it was,” Fraser said, a touch of yearning in his voice.

“Well, uh,” Ray began, looking down. He looked at Fraser’s hands in his lap. He was wearing the ring. Ray suppressed a sigh. “Big day tomorrow. Got that early deposition.”

“Right,” Fraser said faintly. He hesitantly leaned toward Ray.

Ray leaned toward Fraser and kissed him briefly on the lips. “I better get some good sleep tonight.” He sat back and swallowed, not looking Fraser in the eye.

“Of course, Ray,” Fraser said, disappointment evident in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He sounded uncertain.

“You bet,” Ray reassured him. “Same as usual.”

Fraser turned in his seat and slowly reached for the door handle. He grabbed his Stetson off the dashboard and then turned briefly toward Ray as he opened the passenger door.

Ray raised his head and looked Fraser in the eye.

“Good night, Ray,” Fraser said, but the pitch of his voice raised like it was a question.

“G’night, Fraser.”

Fraser slowly got out of the car and shut the door. He walked up the steps to the Consulate, not his usual quick jog. Ray waited patiently until Fraser had unlocked the door, as he always did. Fraser gave his customary short wave, and then disappeared inside, shutting the door.

Ray gripped the steering wheel tightly as he headed home.

* * *

“I’ve never had blood soup before,” Fraser said as Ray drove them towards the Consulate. “Well – not the Polish version.”

“Let me guess – the musk ox version,” Ray replied, teasing.

“Actually, the caribou version,” Fraser replied seriously. His left hand twitched like it wanted to reach for Ray’s right hand, but Ray’s right hand was on the steering wheel.

“Well, it’s rich,” Ray said. “If you have gallstones, don’t get the blood soup. My Aunt Evelyn found that out the hard way.”

“I can see how that would be a problem,” Fraser replied. He moved just the slightest bit to the left, closer to Ray.

Ray switched hands on the steering wheel, and let his right hand rest on his thigh.

“Yeah, well, pretty much anything at a Polish smorgasbord is gonna be a problem, with gallstones.”

Fraser slid his left hand carefully over Ray’s right where it rested on Ray’s right thigh. He seemed to breathe an audible sigh of relief when Ray intertwined their fingers without hesitation.

“The, ah, fat content could, ah, be a problem,” Fraser replied a little breathlessly.

Ray’s thumb rubbed over the ring on Fraser’s finger, then his fingers tightened around Fraser’s. “Anyway. Moderation, right?”

Fraser nodded. “I suppose if that weren’t your staple diet every day–”

Ray pulled up in front of the Consulate and briskly disentangled his fingers from Fraser’s. “Home again, home again.”

Fraser looked out at the Consulate steps, and then back at Ray. “Ray, would you perhaps like a cup of tea? Or coffee? It’s not too late yet–”

But Ray was already yawning. It wasn’t _entirely_ fake. “Sorry, Frase.” He rubbed his eyes. “I, uh. Food coma,” he said, knowing how lame it sounded even as he said it.

“Right,” Fraser said tightly. “Of course.”

Ray leaned close for a quick press of his lips to Fraser’s. Fraser attempted to capture Ray’s mouth with a more ardent response, but Ray swiftly drew back.

“Well,” Fraser said coolly, sliding towards the passenger door and reaching for the handle, “I’ll just take Diefenbaker for an extended walk, then.”

“Great idea,” Ray said, too quickly.

Fraser opened the door and took his hat from the dashboard, but then paused. He looked steadily at the dashboard and not at Ray.

“We used to do that together. Extended walks with Diefenbaker.”

Ray gripped the steering wheel tightly for a long moment without speaking. “We will, Fraser,” he sighed.

Fraser didn’t move, but his whole body tightened as if listening.

Ray sighed again, loosening his grip on the steering wheel, sliding his hand around it. “We will _again_ , Frase. You said – to think about things. Okay? Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

Fraser’s posture sagged. “Yes, of course, Ray,” he murmured. “You should take all the time you need.” He hesitated and swallowed. “I didn’t realize…” He paused and swallowed and spoke again, slowly and carefully. “I didn’t realize we would… stop doing everything else we… had been doing.”

The sad edge to his voice pierced Ray’s composure. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, trying to think of how to explain. When he sat back up, Fraser gazed moodily at him over his shoulder.

“Fraser,” Ray said softly. “I… don’t want to get all hot and bothered, when… there’s nowhere to go with it.” He swallowed. “You said you – can’t. So – why go there?”

Fraser didn’t speak for a moment. When he did, his voice was subdued. “But didn’t you like it?”

Ray snorted gently. “Hell, yes.”

“Then… why stop?” Fraser seemed genuinely befuddled.

Ray’s brows came together in a frown. “Uh, because there’s no point? Because it’s just… frustrating?”

Fraser turned slightly and sat back in the passenger seat again, one booted foot out on the pavement, his hands gripping his Stetson in his lap. “But… doesn’t it feel… good?”

Ray wiped a hand over his face. “Yeah, it feels good. It feels too good. I get excited, I get hard, I want to…” He trailed off.

Fraser looked at his hat in his lap and spoke quietly. “You want to what?”

“What do you think?” Ray said, suddenly explosively. “I want to get off, I want to have sex with you, Fraser! There’s nothing wrong with your mouth or your hands, you kiss like a dream, you touch me like–” He gestured wildly. “Like you know what you’re _doing_ ,” he finished savagely.

Fraser was silent a long moment. “That’s what you think? I know what I’m doing? That there’s nothing wrong with my mouth or my hands?”

Ray didn’t speak, he just shook his head and then leaned to the left until his head knocked against the cold driver’s side window. He lifted it and let it bang against the cold window a second time, trying to knock some sense into himself.

“You’re right, Ray,” Fraser said bitterly, “there’s nothing wrong with my mouth or my hands. And surely, I imagine you think, based on what you’ve just said, I could pleasure you to completion with my mouth or my hands, or both. That is what you think, correct?” he snapped. “Answer me,” he demanded, when Ray was silent too long.

“Yeah, Frase,” Ray said tonelessly, staring out the windshield at the quiet street. “It crossed my mind.”

“If you were in my shoes,” Fraser growled, “and you took your lover’s – naked organ – into your hands, into your _mouth_ – would you stop there? Could you stop there? Wouldn’t you want _more_?”

Ray shrugged listlessly. “I’d want more,” he agreed quietly.

“But I can’t do more,” Fraser said brutally. “As you know.”

Ray sighed deeply. “Right.”

“Yet I should, for your sake, torment myself with tasting the impossibility–”

“Hey!” Ray snarled before he could stop himself. “You’re already tormenting me – maybe you could take a turn!” He clapped a hand over his mouth after his outburst and slouched further down. “I’m sorry, Fraser,” he mumbled through his fingers. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t _mean_ it. I’m sorry.”

Fraser inhaled sharply as if about to speak further, but then fell silent. After a long moment of silence between them both, he spoke haltingly.

“I know that it’s – that, typically, the kisses and caresses we’ve shared, clothed, here in the front seat of your car, Ray, that those typically lead to deeper intimacy – I _know_ that, Ray. But I–” His voice hitched, as if he were about to either laugh or sob. “I enjoy them _in themselves_ , Ray. I touch and kiss you, and you _respond,_ and it’s beautiful and sensual.” He swallowed. “I _miss_ that.”

Ray slid further down in the driver’s seat, a knot forming in his stomach. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. He’d been trying to avoid making things worse by avoiding all the kissing and groping and getting turned on and _wanting_. But instead, the avoidance designed to prevent things from worsening had itself made things worse.

“I’m sorry, Fraser,” he whispered. “It’s really… hard for me. No pun intended. To get to that point, over and over, and stop.”

Fraser swallowed audibly. “I know, Ray.” His voice was ragged. “I’m sorry. I was enjoying it too much to realize what it was like for you–”

“No, hey, we – you told me, I just, just didn’t realize–”

“No, it’s entirely my fault.” Fraser’s voice was weary. “I’ve only just recently informed you, but it’s gone on for some time, now; I truly apologize–”

“Don’t apologize, Fraser, for something you can’t help and took a lot of, well, balls to admit,” Ray sighed and sat up and reached for Fraser’s shoulder to squeeze it. “Okay? We’ll – we’ll figure something out,” he added weakly. “I know we will.” He didn’t sound hopeful, even to himself. “All right?”

“All right,” Fraser agreed too quickly.

Ray hauled Fraser to him by his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Frase,” he said, his mouth close to Fraser’s. “I should’ve – told you what I was doing, before I did it, I’m _sorry_ ,” he begged, and kissed Fraser hard.

Fraser’s lips moved fervently against his for a moment before dragging down to his jaw.

“I forgive you,” he breathed against Ray’s skin, quickly sliding his Stetson onto the dashboard and turning to grab both lapels of Ray’s jacket to pull them closer together. “I blame myself,” he whispered into Ray’s lips before devouring them.

He slipped one hand behind Ray’s neck and touched the tip of his tongue to Ray’s, just as Ray slid a hand around the back of Fraser’s neck, too. They took turns sucking each other’s tongues until Ray could hardly breathe and Fraser’s mouth slid away, down his cheek to his jaw and then Fraser’s teeth scraped his neck again.

“I’m sorry, Ray,” he breathed against Ray’s skin, raising goose-flesh on the back of Ray’s neck.

Ray drew him, hard, into his arms. He held Fraser tightly, and Fraser held him; Fraser tucked his face into Ray’s neck. Their hearts beat, wild and fast, against each other’s until they began to slow.

* * *

There was a gas station about a mile west of the Consulate, on the border of a gentrified neighborhood and a bad neighborhood. The gas was cheap and the GTO was down by half a tank, so Ray headed there. He was surprised to drive past a bar called Nut Bush on his way there. It was across the street from a bar called The Mine Shaft.

He drove slowly past them, looking at the men holding hands outside the two bars. Ray stepped on the gas, heading for the gas station.

* * *

He was once again hopelessly turned on in the front seat of his car, sucking on Fraser’s fingers while Fraser’s clever tongue was all over the place – inside his mouth, licking the shell of his ear, licking his neck, coming back to his mouth. Fraser’s hands stayed off his cock and massaged his thighs. Which was even worse, in a way, than caressing his cock through his clothes.

“Fraser,” he panted when Fraser’s mouth moved to nip at his earlobe and then bite his neck gently, making him shiver.

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser breathed into his skin, moving his teeth as he did.

“You can – put your hands on it, like before,” Ray said, knowing he was just asking for it. “It’s okay.”

“Can I? Is it?” Fraser asked breathlessly, one hand sliding firmly up his thigh, closer, closer.

“Yes,” Ray gritted out.

Fraser’s hand slid over his hard, clothed cock in his jeans just as his mouth slid over Ray’s again. Ray thrust up into Fraser’s caress, groaning into Fraser’s mouth. Fraser’s strokes of Ray’s cock were firm and long and soon Ray’s jeans were far too tight. He removed a hand from Fraser’s flank and tugged, hard, on his pant leg, trying to give himself room. Fraser’s hand moved faster – his mouth, too – until Ray was rhythmically thrusting up into Fraser’s touch.

“Fraser,” Ray mumbled into Fraser’s lips, which slid across his and then to his cheek. “Please, just–”

Fraser’s lips were against his ear. “I’m sorry, Ray,” Fraser barely whispered. “I’ll stop–”

“Don’t,” Ray begged, “too close, don’t stop–”

Fraser’s hand was gone, then and the sudden loss of pressure and caresses was too much. Fraser’s mouth covered Ray’s again, but he moved his body further away, leaving space between them.

Ray moved his own hand down to stroke his cock over his jeans and groaned. He doubled his pressure and speed of stroking. Fraser’s harsh breathing choked for a moment and then he jerked away. Ray continued stroking his cock over his jeans, harder, and faster, until he lurched, spurting again and again in his pants.

“Fuck, God, fuck,” he cursed breathlessly, overwhelmed. He lay his head back against the headrest, breathing hard, sweat on his upper lip.

Fraser slid away from him. “I’m–”

“Don’t,” Ray said tightly, grabbing Fraser’s flannel covered wrist, though the rest of him was slack and exhausted. “I did it myself, you didn’t do anything, so nothing is your fault, if you’re sorry you did or you’re sorry you didn’t. Okay? I just–”

He released Fraser’s wrist. Fraser took his hat slowly off the dashboard and held it in his lap.

“In a weird way,” Ray’s voice sounded distant, even to himself, “it’s nice to know I can still come in my pants. It’s like being carded at a bar.”

Fraser turned his head and looked at him, and Ray lolled his head to the right on the headrest until their eyes met. Fraser’s gaze was somber.

“What?” Ray asked cautiously.

“I wanted to be responsible for your orgasm,” Fraser said, his voice calm, detached, as if he was discussing the weather.

Ray blinked. “I don’t…” He cleared his throat and tried to sit up a little. “Um. I know logic and emotion don’t mix well, Frase, but… after everything we’ve said – everything you _told_ me...” Ray trailed off.

He swept a hand through his spikes, and then scratched his jaw nervously, wondering how to phrase his next question. _How did you plan to_ – no. _How were you going to_ – no. _Would you have_ – no, no; he needed something passive, and not specific to Fraser.

Fraser stared at him steadily, his expression almost terrifyingly blank.

“How did you figure that was going to happen?” Ray finally asked carefully.

Fraser continued to stare at him blankly for another long moment before speaking. “I don’t know,” he confessed slowly, the uncertainty in his voice the only clue to his distress, his gaze piercing despite being expressionless.

Ray hesitated. “Well,” he began slowly. “I’m okay with – with doing it myself,” he finished tentatively. He tried to smile reassuringly, but it didn’t feel like his smile made it up to his eyes.

Fraser stared at him a moment longer before dropping his gaze and staring down at his Stetson in his lap. He was silent, and so was Ray. Then just when Ray was about to speak, Fraser inhaled sharply, so Ray bit his tongue.

Fraser lifted his head again, and pinned Ray with his gaze. “I’m not, Ray.”

Ray paused, not quite sure he’d understood. This entire conversation seemed to have lost its thread. Fraser wasn’t …wasn’t okay with....

Ray felt the heat of anger rising behind his eyes as it dawned on him. Several things he could say crossed his mind in quick succession, but he rejected all of them as too inflammatory, except for one.

“So what the fuck are we supposed to do?” Ray asked grimly.

Fraser looked back down at his Stetson before he spoke. This time his voice was small and timid.

“I… don’t know,” he said helplessly.

* * *

The following weekend, there they were in the front seat of Ray’s car again, in front of the Consulate. Ray inhaled slowly, knowing one of them was supposed to make a move toward the other, and fatalistically accepting that it would have to be him. But he couldn’t make himself.

Fraser sat listlessly beside him, occasionally fingering the brim of his Stetson on the dashboard. He neither reached for the door handle nor picked up his hat. Ordinarily that would have been a good sign.

“Fraser, um, could we – maybe go inside the Consulate?” Ray asked.

Fraser glanced at him moodily. “Why?”

“To talk.”

Fraser sighed. “We can talk here.”

“You come up to my apartment all the time after work,” Ray pointed out.

Fraser shrugged, a movement that seemed incongruous on him. “That’s – different.”

“Different, how?”

“It just – is.”

“Well, look, I gotta use the can–” Fraser looked at Ray sharply. “I do, I’m not making it up. I had a lot of coffee.”

“All right,” Fraser said, but it almost sounded petulant. He opened the passenger door and grabbed his hat.

Ray got out of the GTO too and they made their way up the steps of the Consulate. Inside, he went to the bathroom, relieved himself and then splashed some cold water on his face before going back out to the foyer of the Consulate, where Fraser stood awkwardly, still in his pea coat.

Ray sighed. Maybe it was time to lay some cards out. “Fraser, I used to see a lot more of your room here before we started dating.”

Fraser took a breath, but then seemed to hold it. He nodded.

“I hope you don’t think if we go in your room, that I’m going to attack you or something,” Ray said softly. “I would never do that.”

“I know,” Fraser blurted. “I – I know.”

“We can talk laying down and not have sex, you know. You, uh,” Ray scratched the back of his neck self-consciously, “obviously have self-control, but so do I.”

“Oh,” Fraser said, as if this thought had never occurred to him.

He sounded so lost, something in Ray’s chest contracted. “Come on,” Ray said quietly, unbuttoning Fraser’s coat.

By the time he got to the second button, Fraser had taken over doing it himself. He took it off and hung it in the closet, while Ray removed his own coat. He held it out to Fraser, who hung it up too. Then Ray hitched a thumb in the direction of Fraser’s room at the Consulate, with a questioning look on his face.

“All right,” Fraser said haltingly.

They made their way down the hall to Fraser’s room. Once they were both inside, Ray shut the door and turned to Fraser. The room was small, and they were very close. Ray backed towards Fraser’s cot and sat down on it. He reached for Fraser’s wrist and tugged it gently. When Fraser took a couple steps and was standing next to it, Ray lay down.

“Lie down here next to me, Frase,” he said softly. “I won’t – I’ll keep my hands above your waist, promise.”

Fraser’s breath hitched a moment, but he dutifully sat down on the bed and then stretched out stiffly beside Ray. The cot was barely big enough for the two of them and only because Ray lay on his side. Ray wormed one arm under Fraser and slid the other under Fraser’s arm and across his chest. He pressed himself along Fraser’s side, and Fraser rolled on his side so they could spoon.

“None of this,” Ray murmured into Fraser’s flannel-covered shoulder – he took a deep, slow breath – “is your fault, or my fault, it just is.” He exhaled slowly, holding the stiff Fraser gingerly in his arms.

“I know,” Fraser agreed meekly, relaxing minutely in Ray’s arms. “I should – explain.”

“You have,” Ray nuzzled the back of Fraser’s neck, the close-shorn hair. “You can’t, you want to, but you can’t. I get it.”

“Besides that,” Fraser said very softly.

Ray didn’t speak, but tightened his arms around Fraser, pressing his cheek to Fraser’s shoulder. Fraser relaxed just a slight bit more.

“I…” Fraser began, and stopped.

Ray waited. It seemed a very long time before Fraser spoke again.

“I’ll hurt you.”

Ray didn’t speak, but gently shook his head in the negative against Fraser’s shoulder.

“I already have,” Fraser sighed. “I already am. Don’t deny it.”

Ray sighed deeply and pressed his cheek harder into Fraser’s shoulder.

“It’s inevitable with me, Ray.” Fraser’s voice was soft and bitter. “I will hurt you. You should – run.”

“I’m not. I won’t. We’ll find a way.” _This isn’t just physical_ , Ray thought; _he’ll put his mouth on anything but me_. He tightened his arms around Fraser, rubbing his cheek in circles on Fraser’s shoulder as Fraser slowly relaxed in his arms.

“Will we?” Fraser whispered forlornly.

“Yeah, Frase,” Ray reassured him, hoping Fraser didn’t hear the lie in his voice. “We will.”

But he’d racked his brain and come up with nothing so far.

“Next time,” Ray whispered next to Fraser’s shoulder, “let’s just forget all this and – we’ll do what we always do.”

“What we always do?” The timid hope in Fraser’s voice made Ray’s chest hurt.

“Yeah. Y’know, we’ll kiss, and you feel me up and grope me. First and second base.”

Fraser was silent a long moment. “That’s a high school reference, isn’t it?”

Ray swallowed, sorry he’d said it. “I think middle-schoolers are doing that now,” he said lightly. “Heck, grammar school kids, for all I know. Times have changed.”

“I wish I’d gone to high school,” Fraser mumbled. “Maybe, even with – I’d be better at – this.”

Ray squeezed Fraser tight, tighter than tight. “You are fine at this, Frase.” He put everything he had into the lie, though it wasn’t entirely a lie. “You kiss like a dream. You would be the winner of Spin the Bottle, the king of Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Really?” Fraser asked shyly.

“A natural.” Ray nodded against Fraser’s shoulder.

And then Fraser was turning, turning in his arms, to kiss him, to devour his lips, to wrap his arms around Ray, holding him tight. The next thing Ray knew, he was on his back and Fraser was above him, their mouths only a few inches apart, Fraser looking somberly down at him.

“I’ll think of something, Ray.” His eyes went distant for a moment, then his gaze snapped back to Ray’s. “Perhaps,” he mused thoughtfully, “we just need to think outside the box.”

“Okay, Frase,” Ray said, pulling him down for another kiss, even though he was just going to be punished by arousal with no release for it in the end. “Outside the box,” he murmured against Fraser’s lips. “Right.”

So maybe it _was_ pretty high school, and not just on Fraser’s side.

* * *

The next three dates, things went like they had before. Fraser was all lips and tongue and hands all over him, stroking him, squeezing Ray’s hardness through his pants, Ray panting into his mouth. Until finally, Ray couldn’t stand it any more and had to gently but firmly push Fraser away, to the other side of the car, and grip the steering wheel with one hand while he squeezed the head of his cock tightly through his pants.

The third date of those three, Ray gritted his teeth and let go of his cock, punching his fist into the dashboard, hoping the pain would distract him. It did, but he remained hard.

“Ray, I’m–”

“Fraser,” he warned him. “Just, just–” Ray cut himself off and bit one of his sore knuckles on the hand he’d just punched into the dash. “Ow. Fuck. Ow.” He sighed with some relief, feeling his cock soften a bit.

“Ray?”

“Fraser, I’m _dealing_ with it,” he replied tightly.

“This isn’t exactly a healthy way of–”

Ray barked a short laugh. “Because the rest of this is?”

Fraser didn’t answer the rhetorical question. They were both silent a long moment.

Ray heaved a huge sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“You did, I think,” Fraser said softly. “I’m sorry, I’ll just–”

“Fraser, just–” Ray reached out and grabbed Fraser’s hand. He held it tightly, rubbed his thumb against the hard edge of the ring.

Fraser’s eyes were dark and sad. “I’m sorry, Ray–”

“Fraser, I – God, can we please stop apologizing to each other?” He squeezed Fraser’s hand tighter.

Fraser stiffened. “I don’t know,” he glared at Ray, squeezing Ray’s hand just as tightly. “Can we?”

Ray let out a breath. “Yeah, okay. Yes. We can. It’s – it is what it is.”

“I hate that phrase,” Fraser said morosely.

Ray shook his head and looked over at Fraser. “Well, it’s better than apologizing all the time.”

Fraser pressed his lips together into a thin line. “Is it?” he asked.

“Fraser, what’s with the rhetorical questions?”

Fraser shook his head unhappily. “Nothing.” He loosened his grasp on Ray’s hand as Ray did the same.

Ray sighed. “I gotta get some gas, anyway. Let’s, um…” He tugged Fraser to him by the hand he still held. He gave Fraser a peck on the cheek, then brought Fraser’s hand up to his mouth. He kissed Fraser’s knuckles, hoping his behavior, his actions, would speak louder than his words.

“All right, Ray,” Fraser replied wearily. He leaned over and kissed Ray’s mouth gently, chastely, and then relinquished Ray’s hand, gathered his Stetson, and opened the passenger door.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow, Frase,” Ray said, trying to inject normalcy into his voice.

“Right you are, Ray,” Fraser replied, but his heart was obviously not in it. Ray opened his mouth to reply, but Fraser opened the door, got out, slammed it rather too hard, and was up the steps before Ray even spoke.

Ray shut his mouth and headed west.

He drove slowly past Nut Bush and The Mine Shaft, eyeing the men standing outside, their hands in each other’s back pockets.

Ray shook his head, and passed both bars to go to the gas station.

The bars weren’t really on his way home, but after he’d filled up the GTO’s tank, he drove back past them again.

 _What the fuck_ , Ray asked himself, _am I doing? Fraser is leagues beyond these guys – way out of my league – and I have him._

But it didn’t feel like he had Fraser at all.

* * *

The next time Ray drove past Nut Bush and The Mine Shaft after dropping Fraser off, he didn’t even have the excuse of needing to get gas. His cock was still hard and his hand was still on it. He pulled over and parked about a block away, like he was staking the place out, and watched men come and go. Nut Bush seemed to be the more blue collar of the two bars; The Mine Shaft had a bouncer and was more the leather type.

All Ray did was jack off into a paper napkin from the glove box for relief. After he came, laying his head back loosely on the headrest, Ray felt guilty that he was even _near_ the bars. He told himself he wouldn’t do it again.

He didn’t check his rearview mirror.

* * *

The next time he and Fraser went out, he let Fraser get him hot and bothered and stayed there for a while, floating in the sensual haze of Fraser’s lips and tongue on his mouth and his neck, Fraser’s fingers in his hair, his hand on Ray’s cock. Every so often Ray grabbed Fraser’s hand, sliding their fingers together, rubbing his thumb against the ring.

After too long spent with his cock hard and leaking and not any closer to orgasm, Ray gently extricated himself from Fraser’s octopus-like arms, slowly but firmly moving Fraser to the other side of the front seat.

“Ray?”

“I gotta – we better cool it,” Ray said tensely, gripping his own cock tightly through his pants.

“Understood,” Fraser said reluctantly.

Ray felt worse at Fraser’s acceptance. He knew what he was going to do, where he was going after this. He shoved that thought to the back of his head and leaned across the space between them for their customary goodbye kiss.

“Good night, Ray,” Fraser whispered, his eyes searching Ray’s face as Ray sat back behind the wheel.

“G’night, Frase,” Ray nodded.

Fraser got out of the car, bent the front seat forward for Diefenbaker to get out of the back, and then nodded to Ray, shutting the door after he got out. He glanced at Ray through the window, but Ray just nodded. Fraser trotted up the steps to the Consulate doors with Dief and gave his customary wave after unlocking the door. Once he was in, Ray heaved a sigh.

He drove to where he’d gone the last time, about a block from Nut Bush and The Mine Shaft, pulled over, and put his hand on his cock. Ray rubbed his cock through his jeans, then unbuttoned and unzipped and put his hand on his naked cock. He stroked it a couple of times, bringing it back to full hardness.

He looked at the bars, at the men going in, and stopped stroking his cock. Ray gripped the steering wheel tight with his other hand and slowly bent to press his forehead against its cool rim. What was he doing here? He wasn’t actually going to go in. Fraser was wearing his ring. He couldn’t have sex with Fraser, and he couldn’t get off with some stranger in a bar. He took his hand off his cock, clenched it into a fist, and savagely pounded the dashboard.

There was a knock on his window and Ray nearly jumped out of his skin. He drew his gun and looked out the window at the same time, his heart pounding in his throat.

Fraser stood there.

“Hi, Ray,” he said, his face impassive.

“Fraser, I could’ve shot you.” Ray’s voice trembled as he holstered his gun. “What the–”

“I followed you.”

Ray scrubbed both hands over his face, then tucked his softened cock back in his jeans and zipped and buttoned them up.

“Please get in the car, Frase.”

“No, Ray, I’d like you to get out.”

Okay, so Fraser wanted to beat the crap outta him. Well, Ray supposed he deserved it. “Fine,” Ray sighed, getting out of the car. “I wasn’t going to go in,” he said as he slammed the GTO’s door and pocketed the keys. He leaned back against her.

Fraser grabbed Ray by the elbow, pulling him away from the GTO, then pushing Ray ahead of himself towards the bars.

“Fraser, I just said, I wasn't going to–”

“I know, Ray. I've watched you drive here three times, and park, and never get out of the car.”

“You – you followed me? Every time?”

“Surely you didn't think I am completely unsympathetic to your state of arousal and need.”

“I… well, yeah, I thought you were. You know, because you–”

“No,” Fraser shook his head briefly, his mouth a flat line. “I am merely unable to help you with it myself. But you have needs. I want to meet them. You have come here and not gone in three times because you are sorely tempted, yet honoring our relationship. I am prepared to expand the boundaries of that relationship to meet the needs you have which I cannot fulfill.” He continued hustling Ray ahead of him down the street, towards Nut Bush.

“You… what?”

“We're here to find you someone with whom to have sex, Ray.”

“We… we are?”

“Yes, Ray.”

“You're _helping_ me?” Ray dug in his heels and stopped, and Fraser ran smack into him.

“Yes. That’s what a lover does,” Fraser said seriously.

“Yeah, but…” Ray trailed off, then grabbed Fraser by his upper arms so Fraser couldn’t punch him. He continued more slowly and softly. “But, Fraser, we're not lovers – and even if we were, a lover doesn’t help the other lover cheat.”

“We _are_ lovers,” Fraser insisted, his jaw stubbornly clenched under his hat, even if his voice trembled slightly. “In every sense of the word except the physical act, we are. Do you agree?” His question was almost a challenge.

Ray thought about it. “Well, yeah, I guess we are.”

“Then we'll find a man who can perform a physical act as my surrogate. Then it isn’t ‘cheating.’” Fraser shrugged Ray’s hands off and grabbed Ray’s elbow again, turning them both back towards the bar.

Ray let himself be firmly dragged along by Fraser. “We... we will?”

“Is this acceptable to you?” Fraser asked, looking at the sidewalk. “Mind the broken glass,” he said matter-of-factly, continuing, “What I have done, what has... happened – your repeated arousal without consummation, usually without orgasm – isn't fair to you. I told you we needed to think outside the box. This is me doing that.”

He tightened his hat on his head as he simultaneously tightened his grip on Ray’s elbow, almost to the point of it hurting.

“Fraser, wait,” Ray stopped, bringing Fraser up short again. He twisted his elbow out of Fraser’s grasp.

“Ray, I thought we could find someone here to… bring you to orgasm.” Fraser’s eyes were dark, impenetrable.

“But – but I want it to be with you,” Ray protested weakly.

“It will be,” Fraser said, sighing.

“It will? How? Wait.” Ray held up his hands. “What – what the hell are we doing?”

Fraser tilted his head as he looked at Ray, a half-calculating expression crossing his face in the street-light that fell half under the brim of his hat. “Perhaps some... ground rules or boundaries are in order, Ray.”

“Ground rules?” Ray asked incredulously. “I mean, okay, I – is this, like, are we going in some kind of kinky direction here, Frase? Because I forgot my leather chaps at home.”

“Ray, you don't have leather chaps,” Fraser said as if that was the silliest idea on the planet.

“Yeah, right, just handcuffs,” Ray agreed, grasping onto an undisputed fact of reality. “So you gotta explain, Fraser. Because I don’t know what we’re doing.”

Fraser continued to walk towards Nut Bush, and Ray had no choice but to fall in beside him. “Ray, when things end, as they did tonight, with your needful arousal and my inability to consummate things or bring you to orgasm, we'll come here – or any other suitable similar venue – to find you a partner who will bring you to orgasm for me, as something of a sexual stand-in.”

“Oh.” Ray digested this. “Can I say no?”

“Well, of course,” Fraser said as if Ray’s question was ridiculous. He scraped his thumbnail over his eyebrow. “I'm a bit confused as to why you would, Ray,” he continued. “You've come here three times, obviously in great need, and haven't gone in.”

“I was trying to – I was being faithful.”

“Well, it would seem to be only a matter of time until you went in,” Fraser said stoically. “And since you are here now, but with my permission and accompanied by me, this will be faithful, too.”

“But I'll be with _another guy_ , Fraser.” Ray felt that someone ought to point out the painfully obvious.

“I will choose the man, I will determine what he can and can't do with you, and I will watch,” Fraser said firmly.

“Wait, you’re going to watch?” They were almost to the door of Nut Bush now, and Ray grabbed Fraser’s shoulder.

Fraser turned to face him. “I most certainly will,” Fraser said. His voice was impatient, but his expression was grimly determined. “You're _my_ lover, not his.”

“Not – whose?” Ray asked, confused.

“Whichever appropriate and willing man we find here,” Fraser sighed patiently and gestured at the bar, as if Ray were a blithering idiot.

“But – but I'll be having sex with _him_?” Ray asked again, trying to clarify.

“Yes, because I _want_ you to – and because I can't. In every other respect, you're mine – and I'm yours, would you agree?” Fraser grabbed Ray’s hand and squeezed it.

“Yeah,” Ray agreed, “in all but – in all but this way.”

“Right, then," Fraser began. "You can refuse the man, of course; any man; you have the right of refusal. You can refuse the act, acts, any specific sexual act." He took a deep breath and straightened up, but his grip on Ray’s hand tightened. “I would never compel you to do anything with anyone. But of the men I choose, hopefully you will find one who is attractive enough and acceptable as my surrogate. Then you will do with him what I would do with you if I could. I will watch to make sure that's all he does with you.”

Ray’s lips felt slightly numb. “What's the difference between this, and me going out and doing this without you?”

“Well, that would be infidelity,” Fraser explained patiently, as if Ray should be able to keep up.

“And this isn’t?” Ray asked dumbly.

“Not with me present,” Fraser shook his head earnestly. “I consider this an alternative means of me meeting your sexual needs. I'll be present and watching.”

Ray stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “So… I can do this with other guys _with you._ But I can't just screw other guys when you're not around.”

“Exactly,” Fraser nodded, the corners of his lips turned up. “Because we're together and in a monogamous relationship.”

“Oh, okay,” Ray offered sarcastically. “Because I thought me sucking and fucking other guys while you watch would be non-monogamous.”

“Ray,” Fraser said, a warning tone in his voice. “It's with my permission and within the boundaries of our relationship. You won't do it outside of my presence, right?”

Ray nodded slowly.

“Then I am prepared to expand the definitions of our emotional monogamy so that your physical needs are not neglected, so they are met and you are fulfilled sexually.”

“Fulfilled. Sexually.” This was some strange, parallel universe Fraser. Ray wondered if this was a weird dream or if someone had drugged him.

“Ray, I confess I am a bit surprised,” Fraser said quietly but emphatically. “I was given to understand that what I am suggesting, the average man would consider nearly ideal: an emotionally monogamous relationship where sex with others outside the relationship is not only allowed, it’s encouraged. I had imagined… you'd be more open to this. You said before you'd try anything.”

“I... yeah, I know I said that,” Ray agreed weakly. “I just… didn’t see this one coming. I’m trying to wrap my head around it.”

“Well, the possibility has arisen. I want you to orgasm, I want to be the reason  _why_ you orgasm, and I want to be there when you do – even if I am not the person causing it.” Fraser looked down at the ground, but his grip on Ray’s forearm tightened. “I love you. That makes me your lover, even if I can not _be_ your lover, except by proxy.” He sounded just a little unsure and frightened.

It hit Ray, then, that Fraser was also way out on a limb, just waiting for Ray to chop it off.

“Please,” Fraser said, stepping close. He pulled Ray to him and pressed their foreheads together under the brim of his Stetson. “Please,” he repeated softly, and his grip on Ray’s forearm tightened like a vise. “Let me do this for you. It’s _important_. I _need_ to do this for you.”

“Um. What about disease, Frase? HIV and stuff?” Ray gulped, placing a hand over Fraser’s vise-like grip.

“Based on my extensive reading and research –

“–extensive reading and research?”

“–while nothing but total abstinence is one hundred percent safe, in general, ‘come on me, not in me’ is the usual guideline for safety in the exchange of bodily fluids.” Fraser still gripped Ray’s forearm hard; his gaze was fever bright. “That is, as long as any skin onto which ejaculate is released is unbroken skin without any open or microscopic wounds. Obviously, c-condoms are required for… anal penetration.” Fraser cleared his throat. “Is this acceptable to you?”

“Yeah, that pretty much jives with what I’ve read, and it’s pretty much what I went by before I met you.” Ray sighed with relief.

“So we’re agreed then?” Fraser’s vise-like grip relaxed.

“Okay,” Ray nodded, his forearm tingling where Fraser had gripped it so tightly. “I just – needed to wrap my head around it. Okay. Let’s do it.”

They headed into the bar.


	7. Chapter 7

Inside were a pool table, an electronic dart board, an old pinball machine, and a square bar. Two televisions hovered over opposite corners of the bar, tuned to cable sports stations, both on basketball games, neither of them the Bulls. A ledge of enough depth to hold several drinks ran along the inside of the external wall of the bar as well, so there were men clustered in groups of two to four along the internal walls, as well as a number of men seated at the bar itself.

Fraser and Ray sat down at two empty seats at the bar. Ray ordered a beer and Fraser a ginger ale. They weren’t there five minutes when another ginger ale appeared in front of Fraser, courtesy of the bartender. The latter pointed at a bearded, mustached man farther down the bar, who lifted his drink at Fraser. Fraser tipped his hat at the man, then turned to Ray.

“They’re all going to want to buy you drinks,” Ray sighed. “Not me.”

“Nonsense, Ray. Take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves.”

“What?”

Fraser leaned closer and spoke in Ray’s ear. “With your jacket on, no one can see your firm buttocks, or the muscles in your arms, or your lovely hands, really, either. Take off your jacket.”

Ray looked at Fraser. There was the edge of an order to Fraser’s words, but his eyes roved over Ray and the rest of the bar and its patrons nervously.

Ray took off his jacket, hung it from a hook under the bar, and rolled up his two T-shirt sleeves. Fraser kept his jacket on, but slipped off his bar stool to stand and rest his Stetson on it.

Another beer appeared by Ray’s half-drunk beer, courtesy of the bartender, who gestured down the bar at a different man. Ray raised his beer at the man and took a sip, and the man raised his drink.

“That guy,” Ray said quietly to Fraser, who looked over his shoulder at the man briefly.

“No.”

“He wants me,” Ray gritted.

“No. He's not suitable.”

“Suitable?” Ray squinted at Fraser.

“He's not a suitable partner,” Fraser explained patiently.

“What's wrong with him?” Ray cautiously glanced back at the man who’d bought him a drink. He had wavy brown hair, grown out a little shaggy.

“He's not enough like me,” Fraser replied.

Ray was silent and just looked away.

“What?” Fraser sighed when Ray had said nothing for several moments.

“No one is, Fraser,” Ray said flatly.

Fraser was silent then.

“This is nuts, Fraser–” Ray protested softly.

“Ray,” Fraser interrupted long-sufferingly, “let's just take the argument as read and avoid beating the proverbial horse, shall we? Let’s just meet your needs.”

“But I really want–”

“Don't. Please,” Fraser said, his voice both pleading and warning. “If I could, I would, Ray; we’ve been over this. Please don't ask me again.”

Ray sighed. “Okay.”

The bartender brought another ginger ale to Fraser and another beer to Ray, indicating one man directly across the bar. He was clean cut, with trimmed hair about the color of Fraser’s, but steel gray eyes and a mouth that was too full and lush.

Fraser and Ray nodded at him and raised their drinks to him across the bar.

“Him,” Fraser said.

“Okay,” Ray said weakly. “But he bought you a drink, too.”

“I’ll handle that,” Fraser said authoritatively.

Ray wondered how Fraser had gotten so comfortable so quickly in a blue collar gay bar full of delivery drivers, off-duty security guards, and postal workers. But then, except for the  _one_ area of life Fraser sucked at, he was pretty much fantastic at everything, so maybe it wasn’t so surprising.

The man who’d bought them both drinks wandered over not five minutes later. “Dean,” he said, extending his hand to Fraser first.

“Ben,” Fraser said. “This is Ray,” he gestured at Ray, who shook hands with Dean.

“Never seen you guys here before,” Dean said, sipping his beer and eyeing them speculatively over it.

“Yes, well, we’re in need of something specific,” Fraser said, getting right down to it. He didn’t blush, but Ray did.

“Oh, yeah?” Dean raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth went up. “What are you, a lumberjack?”

“No, although I have chopped down trees in the past,” Fraser replied.

“’Kay. Well, what’d you have in mind?” Dean said, turning to Ray, whose voice froze in his throat.

“Yes. My friend Ray here intensely needs to be masturbated,” Fraser said matter-of-factly.

“Frase–” Ray objected weakly.

“Does he, now?” Dean said, stepping closer to Ray, his eyes roving all over Ray’s body. “And what about you?” He turned to look at Fraser appraisingly.

“I need to watch,” Fraser said. A dark, possessive edge to his voice said there was no negotiating.

“Look,” Ray said to Dean. “I could use a hand job, if you’re up for that. If not, no harm, no foul.”

Dean shrugged and nodded at Ray, but he looked at Fraser. “What do I get?”

“What do you want?” Fraser asked.

Dean thought briefly. “Blowjob?” Fraser negated that with a shake of his head. Dean shrugged. “Return the favor?” Dean asked, looking at Fraser.

Fraser looked at Ray. Ray shrugged. “Sure,” he agreed weakly, feeling like he was just along for the ride.

Dean looked at Ray speculatively, then back at Fraser. “You his ‘daddy’?”

Ray sighed and pressed the heels of his hands against both eyes. “No,” he said to the stars exploding behind his eyelids.

“You could say that,” Fraser talked over him.

“Whatever,” Ray growled, taking his hands off his eyes and glaring at the two of them through the after images.

“Okay,” Dean said, the corner of his mouth curling up farther. “I like you guys. You’re like a one-two punch.” He eyed Ray, slid a hand up Ray’s forearm. He squeezed Ray’s bicep, and something made Ray curl his arm up like he was about to block a jab.

“You box?” Dean asked.

“He does,” Fraser said.

“Sometimes,” Ray agreed.

“Nice,” Dean smiled.

“Let’s go,” Fraser said, taking Ray by the elbow and pushing him ahead of himself. He nodded at Dean. “Lead the way.” Over his shoulder, Fraser nodded at the bartender. “This hat will be here when we return, of course.”

He wasn’t asking. But the bartender nodded in agreement.

“’Kay.” Dean headed for the bathroom. Fraser followed, pushing Ray ahead, and Ray… Ray let him.

The bathroom stall Dean kicked open was old, wooden, and had a million phone numbers, names, perverse messages, cartoons, and graphic images scraped and carved into its walls.

Dean leaned back against the far wall. “Who goes first?”

“He does,” Fraser said, pressing Ray back against the wall next to Dean.

Ray tried to shake his head ‘No’ at Fraser, without their new friend seeing – he really wasn’t ready for this – but Dean was already stroking Ray’s cock through his jeans and Ray’s knees became wobbly. In just a few strokes he was almost full hard. His hands shook and his fingers fumbled as he unbuttoned the top button and unzipped his fly. Dean pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down. Ray’s cock jutted out, hard, hot, throbbing.  
  
Dean wrapped a hand around it and started jacking Ray off. He leaned closer to Ray, his face so close, Ray could smell the beer on his breath –

“His mouth is mine,” came Fraser’s voice, low and firm.

Then there were hard fingers on Ray’s chin, turning his jaw sideways, into Fraser’s face. He smelled Fraser’s ginger ale and pine scented soap, right before Fraser possessed his mouth utterly.

Ray leaned gratefully into Fraser’s rough kiss even as Dean’s hand jacked him faster. He groaned into Fraser’s mouth, his breath coming faster. Dean was not taking his time; Dean was going as fast with this as possible. Ray felt a hot, hard hand on the back of his neck, one on his hip, and two hot, hard male bodies crowded against him.

A hand slid up Ray’s shirt, caressing his chest and then disappeared, only to return, fingertips moist and dragging across his nipple, pinching it gently. Fraser kissed him hungrily, then pulled back only to look down at Dean’s hand flashing up and down on Ray's cock. Ray looked down too, and it was then that he realized it was Fraser’s hand hard on the back of his neck, Fraser’s other hand pinching his nipple not quite too hard, and then dragging a damp thumb slowly back and forth across the hardened nub.

“God,” Ray gulped, tucking his face into Fraser’s neck. “I’m – uh – getting–”

“Yeah,” Dean growled. “Come on, fucker, you’re gonna come–” He jacked Ray tighter and faster, and Ray’s arousal climbed another notch, almost to the peak –

“Ray,” Fraser breathed softly into Ray’s ear. “Ignore his words. Imagine it’s _my_ hand on you, that’s _my_ hand making you come–”

“I’m gonna – guh – I’m gonna come, oh, God, Fraser–” Ray moaned into Fraser’s neck. Dean’s hand sped up, slipping over the head of Ray’s cock now and again, and Fraser pinched his nipple just a bit harder. Ray’s body jerked; sweat broke out on his stomach and face. He grunted and groaned, spurting hard. The hand on his chest swept down his abdomen, two fingers pressing alongside the root of his cock.

“I feel you coming,” Fraser breathed excitedly in his ear. “Keep coming for me, Ray,” he murmured.

And Ray did, spurting and trembling, Fraser’s grip on the back of his neck feeling like the only thing that held him up. When he finally stopped spurting, Ray’s knees were weak; he wanted to slide down the wall to sit on the floor, no matter how disgusting it might be – he hadn’t even checked.

“Awesome, man,” Dean murmured. He grabbed a bunch of toilet paper and wiped Ray’s semen from his hand. After he wiped it away as best he could – little flecks of toilet paper sticking here and there – he looked expectantly at Fraser and Ray, who had finally caught his breath. “My turn.”

“Of course,” Fraser said politely. He grabbed Dean by the shoulder and pushed him back against the wall beside Ray. “Ready, Ray?” He nodded at Ray. His pupils were wide and dark, his expression serious, bright red spots of color high on his cheeks, the faintest hint of sweat at his hairline making tiny tendrils of his short hair stick together.

Dean unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, taking his cock out and stroking it a few times.

“Sure,” Ray said numbly, unable to look away from Fraser’s gaze. “I’m, um, a little–”

“Here,” Fraser said, and slipped his arm under Ray’s armpit and behind his back, half-holding him up. “Better?” Fraser asked softly.

“Yeah,” Ray replied gratefully.

Dean grabbed Ray’s hand and pulled it to his cock. Ray looked down at it and felt a pang that it was a complete stranger’s cock and not Fraser’s. Dean was circumcised, decent-sized – if Ray was decent-sized, since Dean seemed about the same, if not as girthy – and just beginning to leak pre-come.

Ray dutifully squeezed the hot column of flesh, stroked the velvety soft skin loosely, then tighter, and yet tighter. He squeezed tighter at the top than the bottom on the last couple of strokes, and Dean groaned; a bit more pre-come oozed out.

“Imagine that’s me,” Fraser whispered in Ray’s ear. His breath was hot and ticklish. “Do what you want to do to me, Ray,” Fraser murmured, and he looked down and watched, too.

Ray smeared his thumb through the wet dribble of pre-come, making Dean moan again. Ray smeared the pre-come down to the back side of the head, the sensitive V-shaped notch, and Dean twitched. Ray did it again, and Dean groaned, and Ray started stroking his cock for real, then.

Fraser gripped Ray tighter around his back, his lips whispering a mantra in Ray’s ears.

“That’s amazing, Ray… I’d like that… yes, just like that. You could go faster… mmm-hmmm, and tighter… yes, like that… perfect. Your hands are lovely, Ray, have I ever told you?… they’re so fine and strong, elegant and tough… yes, faster now, Ray…”

“Fraser,” Ray whispered.

“Yes, Ray?”

“Are you circumcised?”

Fraser hesitated only briefly. “No, I’m not.”

Somehow the thought that Fraser wasn’t made Ray’s hand move even faster on Dean’s cock.

“Jesus,” Dean gulped. “Guys, I’m – getting–”

“Tighter,” Fraser murmured in Ray’s ear, and the tickle of his breath raised gooseflesh on the back of Ray’s neck and his upper arms. “Faster, please, yes,” Fraser crooned. “That’s it – now faster still, Ray – _tighter_ –”

Ray’s wrist was beginning to ache but there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for Fraser at that moment, so he jerked Dean’s cock faster and tighter.

“Fuck, I’m gonna – I’m coming,” Dean groaned, cock jerking in Ray’s tight, moving grip.

The hot spurts of semen slicked Ray’s hand for even tighter, more slippery strokes. Ray watched his hand move on Dean’s cock like it was someone else’s hand, and Fraser murmured in his ear –

“That’s it… yes, Ray… that’s so good…–”

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dean muttered, his spurts weaker and farther apart. His thighs shook.

Ray slowed the movement of his hand up and down Dean’s cock until Dean grabbed his wrist. Ray let go. “Dude,” Dean breathed.

Fraser sighed gustily in Ray’s ear. “Perfect, Ray.”

His fingers found Ray’s chin, tipped it up and turned it towards his mouth. He captured Ray’s mouth in a long, wet kiss. Ray sighed into Fraser’s mouth, relief flooding him. It was over, and it hadn’t been weird. Much.

“Jeeze. Thanks. Uh.” Dean leaned over, his hands braced on his knees. He breathed heavily a moment longer, then straightened up and leaned back against the bathroom stall wall again. He pulled on the toilet paper dispenser, rolled up a large wad, and pressed it into Ray’s hand. “Here,” he said wearily.

Ray crumpled the toilet paper in his hand, and then Fraser’s mouth released his. Fraser took it from him, wiped his hand, his wrist, the webbing between his fingers.

“We good?” Dean asked, zipping and buttoning up his fly.

“Great,” Fraser said quietly, glancing over at him and nodding briefly. “Thank you kindly.”

“No, thank you. And you,” Dean said, and elbowed Ray.

“Thanks, too,” Ray mumbled, letting Fraser wipe his hand free of Dean’s come.

“It’s all good,” Dean said, pushing off the stall wall and unlocking the door. He crowded Fraser and Ray a moment as he opened the door, which opened inward. “See ya later.”

“Sure,” Ray offered weakly.

Fraser said nothing, but threw the wad of toilet paper in the toilet and then reached over and flushed it.

“Ready?” he asked Ray then, his eyes too bright.

“Sure,” Ray repeated.

Fraser took him by the wrist and led him out to the sinks. He turned on the water and washed his hands, and then he washed Ray’s hands with soap and rinsed them between his hands. Ray watched Fraser’s hands rubbing his under the water, and then looked at the two of them in the mirror over the sink. Fraser looked solicitous and he himself looked tired but content. 

“Do you want to finish our drinks, or leave?” Fraser asked, his voice low.

Ray looked at him, really looked at Fraser. The blush on his cheeks was fading now. His eyes were very blue, the pupils less dilated in the harsher fluorescent light of the bathroom. His jaw was relaxed, his mouth hovering enigmatically near a smile like the Mona Lisa. He looked happy.

“We could finish our drinks,” Ray said slowly.

“All right,” Fraser nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Ray’s lightly. “Let’s,” he added shyly.

They went back out to the bar. Fraser’s Stetson was still on his bar stool. Ray sat on the next bar stool over, grabbed his beer – he still had an unfinished beer from his previous admirer – and stifled a yawn. Fraser picked up his hat, flipped it jauntily and set it on his head, then sat on his bar stool. He sipped his ginger ale and looked around the bar once before he looked at Ray.

His gaze softened on Ray. “Tired now?” he asked.

“Kind of, yeah,” Ray admitted.

“We can go,” Fraser said easily. He waved at the bartender and took off his hat, withdrawing bills from the inner hat band.

Ray reached for his wallet in his back pocket. He pulled it out, took out a couple bills, pressed them into Fraser’s hands. Fraser put his hat back on, left their bills on the bar, and looked at Ray. “Shall we?”

“Yeah,” Ray agreed. He grabbed his jacket from the hook under the bar, put it on, and they slid off their bar stools and headed for the door.

Dean intercepted them as they got to the door.

“Hey,” he said to Fraser, but he handed a bar napkin to Ray. “Call me.”

Ray looked down at it, and there was a phone number on it. Fraser’s brows drew together and his lips were a straight line, but he said nothing.

“Um, thanks,” Ray said politely, like he figured Fraser would. “See ya around.”

“Okay,” Dean said.

Ray stuffed the napkin in his jacket pocket as he and Fraser continued out the door. Out on the street, on their walk back to the GTO, Fraser said nothing. But after they got in the GTO, he looked away from Ray, out the side window, and finally spoke.

“Throw that away when you get home,” he told Ray. His tone was neutral but implacable.

Ray looked over at Fraser. “Why? You – we – found a stand-in for you. I thought – you’d want to…” Ray considered his words carefully. “…make use of him again?”

“Certainly not,” Fraser said, shaking his head as if this was already understood between them.

Ray was baffled and suddenly wondered if the hand job he’d gotten tonight was going to be the only sex he and Fraser ever had. His heart plummeted into the depths of his belly and knotted painfully.

“I don’t understand,” he said truthfully, and he even sounded confused to himself.

Fraser looked over at him, his expression a strange mixture of resentful and frightened. “We’ll find a new surrogate. Each time. I don’t want… repeat performances with anyone.”

Ray opened his mouth, shut it, and looked back at where he was driving before they got in one of those embarrassingly stupid single-vehicle accidents. He hated to belabor the point, but he was bewildered, and could only repeat himself.

“Fraser, I… don’t understand.”

Fraser cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was cool and hollow. “I can’t have them – or you – getting attached.” He took a breath. “Your attachment is to _me_ ,” he added, slightly more vehemently. But it sounded as if he were trying to convince himself.

All Ray’s trepidation collapsed like a house of cards. He took the wheel to steer with his left hand and groped for Fraser’s hand with his right. When he found it, Ray gripped it hard until Fraser’s fingers tightened around his own.

“My attachment _is_ to you. _Only_ to you. No matter who stands in for you because – you can’t,” he reassured Fraser.

Fraser’s hand tightened so hard around Ray’s that it felt like Ray’s bones ground together. Fraser’s other hand pinched the bridge of his nose and then pressed his thumb and knuckle between his eyebrows.

“Thank you, Ray,” he said, his voice shaky. “And my attachment is only to _you_.”

* * *

It became habitual for them to find someone to give Ray a hand job while Fraser watched, in the bathroom at Nut Bush, almost every weekend. The fourth time it happened, Ray didn’t drive Fraser back to the Consulate. Dief was curled up in the back seat of the GTO.

“Come home with me,” Ray asked, not looking at Fraser but looking down at the seat between them while the GTO’s engine purred, warming up.

Fraser looked at him. “Spend the night?”

Ray nodded, looking up at Fraser. “Why not? You used to. Before.”

Fraser looked a little spooked, but nodded cautiously. “All right.” He hesitated. “I haven’t got my…–”

“Red long johns, I know,” Ray finished.

“Union suit,” Fraser corrected softly.

“I’ve got stuff you can wear,” Ray pointed out, putting the car in gear.

“All right,” Fraser said less tentatively. “That should be fine.”

It had been a while since Fraser had been over. A few times during casework, Ray realized… but less often since they’d started seeing each other, than before, when things were purely platonic. Well, that was about to change.

At his building, they didn’t wait for the elevator, but took the stairs. Ray let them in, and Fraser immediately hung up his pea coat in the hall closet. Ray hung his jacket on a hook by the door and dropped his keys in the tray he kept by the kitchen island expressly for that.

“Want a glass of water? Tea?” he asked Fraser.

“No,” Fraser replied softly, standing a bit awkwardly by the kitchen island. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. It made him look young and boyish.

“I’m just going to find you an extra toothbrush and some sweats,” Ray said lightly. “Unless you just want to sleep in your underwear. Or my underwear. Clean, of course.” He paused. “You can have one of my pillows. I have two.”

Fraser nodded hesitantly. “I’m rather used to… it being colder. Perhaps your underwear would be better, given that the temperature in your apartment is warmer than I’m used to.”

“Underwear, no problem.”

Given that he was leaner than Fraser, his boxer briefs and white T-shirt fit Fraser rather snugly. Ray handed Fraser a new toothbrush still in the sample packaging from his dentist’s office. He tried not to stare at Fraser in his bathroom mirror while they both brushed their teeth. Fraser caught him looking in the mirror more than once though, and blushed. The third time, he looked directly at Ray.

“What?” he asked quietly, his expression troubled, toothpaste foam at the corners of his mouth.

“Nothing,” Ray replied quickly. “You – you look good. I just – I never get to see you, with this much skin exposed. My underwear looks good on you.” He grinned and ran a hand up Fraser’s arm from his wrist to his biceps. “It’s nice. Sexy.”

Fraser blushed harder, and turned back to the sink to finish brushing his teeth. Ray finished brushing and rinsed and spit. Fraser was smiling a little to himself after he rinsed and spit, too, though his cheeks still had spots of color on them.

Ray peeled back the blanket and sheet on his bed and yawned mightily. “Sorry, Frase. You’ll have to sleep in my dirty sheets with me.”

“It’s fine, Ray,” Fraser said seriously.

They got into bed, and lay side by side. Ray turned off the small lamp on his bedside table. Neither of them spoke for a moment in the dark. Ray wondered sadly if this was how it was going to be – just platonic friends in bed. He groped for Fraser’s hand and found it. He clutched it hard, and Fraser gripped his hand just as hard.

“Fraser. I – thanks. It means a lot to have you here. In my bed. Even if–”

“I’m glad to be here, Ray,” Fraser interrupted in a whisper.

They turned toward one another, rolled into each other’s arms, kissed, and hugged.

“When we – go out like tonight, Frase, let’s come back here to my place, okay?” Ray said softly into the nook between Fraser’s shoulder and neck. “I just – want to end the night with you.”

“I’d like that, too,” Fraser murmured behind Ray’s ear, a strange thrum in his voice.

“Good. Great. Let’s do it.” Ray squeezed Fraser hard once again, and received a very short but tight bear hug in return.

“Then it’s settled,” Fraser whispered.

They rolled apart. But then Fraser curled on his side. Slowly, so as not to spook him, Ray rolled on his side and slid close to Fraser, curling his body to spoon Fraser. They dozed off that way.

* * *

In the morning, light streaming through the cracks in the closed Venetian blinds, Ray was hard with morning wood. His thigh was across Fraser’s, his arm across Fraser’s chest. Fraser lay on his back, snoring lightly, giving off heat like a furnace.

Not fully awake, eyes still closed, Ray pressed his erection against Fraser’s thigh and hip. It felt good, so he did it again. Pretty soon he was rhythmically thrusting lightly against Fraser’s hip and thigh, not hard enough to get further aroused, but hard enough to maintain wood.

Fraser stirred slowly and swallowed audibly.

Ray thrust against his hip more. But Fraser edged away and slid out from under Ray’s thigh and arm. He moved to the opposite side of the bed and sat up, his back to Ray.

“I’m sorry, Ray,” he said softly.

Ray put a hand on his own cock through his underwear and groaned. “It’s just morning wood, Fraser. I wasn’t going to do anything.”

Fraser was silent a moment before answering. “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Ray rolled on his back and contemplated his bedroom ceiling, sighing. He swallowed. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” He sat up and moved to his side of the bed.

There they sat, their backs to one another.

“I’m gonna take care of this in the shower,” Ray finally said flatly. 

Fraser looked at the floor in Ray’s bedroom. Ray got up and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

Ray glanced at Fraser across the squad room from his vantage point at Francesca’s desk. Fraser sat at Ray’s desk, on Ray’s telephone, dutifully calling next of kin of the victim. Ray and Francesca were at her desk, going through the faxes from the various banks, pension, and life insurance companies since the warrants had been granted.

Ray watched Fraser print in neat block letters on a yellow legal pad with his strangely elegant, blunt fingers.

Francesca followed Ray’s gaze. She sighed. “Something’s up with him,” she nodded at Fraser.

Ray looked back at Frannie, a bit startled. “Meaning what?”

“Look at him,” she shrugged a shoulder at Fraser, turning back to her computer and tapping at the keys. She sighed again. “I know that look,” she said dejectedly. “He’s _involved_ with someone. He’s happy.”

“Huh,” Ray said, straightening up because he could feel his cheeks warming. “Ya think?”

“Yeah, I think,” she sighed again, looking at her computer screen, and then back down at one of the faxes.

Ray chewed the toothpick in his mouth meditatively for a moment, and watched Fraser.

Fraser’s phone chatter was a bit more vivacious than usual, his posture was more perky, yet relaxed. A slow smile curved up the corners of Ray’s mouth as he observed that Francesca was maybe right, that there was some extra spring in Fraser’s step.

At that moment, Fraser looked up at Ray with Ray’s phone to his ear in one hand, writing on Ray’s legal pad with his other hand. His expression was initially guarded, seeing himself observed. But on seeing Ray’s tentative smile, Fraser smiled back. He hung up the phone and sprang up from Ray’s desk with verve, practically bounding over to Francesca’s desk with Ray’s legal pad.

“Ray – Francesca – I think we have enough now to focus on the step-mother. She was the only one with severe enough debt for motive, and the sibling beneficiaries were also co-owners on the victim’s bank accounts. They could have withdrawn money at almost any time, had they wanted to. They didn’t.”

He fairly beamed at Ray.

“Yeah, Frase, I know. We just got the faxes back from her credit card companies – and her VIP records from the casinos. She’s got a serious gambling problem.” Ray grinned back at Fraser.

Francesca looked up at them, annoyed.

“Well, now you both look like lovesick puppies,” she muttered. “You’d think it could happen to the people who’ve worked at it for years, put in the time and effort and female man-hours…”

“Hey, Frannie, thanks for your help,” Ray said. He couldn’t help feeling sympathetic towards her.

Though it took effort to turn away from Fraser’s hopeful and cheery expression, Ray leaned down to look over Frannie’s shoulder, squeezed it, and murmured in her ear.

“Hey. Just relax, instead of working so hard at it.”

Frannie turned her large, liquid brown eyes up to Ray. “Oh, yeah?” she said slowly, half-offended, half-serious.

Ray chewed his toothpick. “It turns up when and where you least expect.”

She put a hand to her throat. “I – I never thought of it that way.”

Ray squeezed her shoulder once more. “You pick the right target and relax, Frannie, he’ll never see it coming.”

Her lips curved into a sardonic smile and she swatted at Ray as he straightened up. Fraser, who had turned away, trying not to eavesdrop, turned back to them.

“Ray, I wonder if we might–”

“Knock off for the day? Yeah, pretty soon.”

In the GTO on the way to their diner – it was _theirs_ , Ray decided, in the way that certain things just were – Fraser was full of Inuit stories, but was frequently corrected by Dief. Despite that, he didn’t even seem to mind.

Ray shook his head at their friendly bickering, smiling as he drove.

* * *

The next evening, Fraser got in the GTO with the same spring in his step. They were headed to a gallery benefit auction to which Fraser had been invited because of the inclusion of a couple Canadian artists whose works the Consulate had facilitated transport through Customs. Ray hoped for wine, cheese, and hors d’oeuvres; if he had to walk around looking at paintings and weird installations in order to get them, he was okay with that. It wasn’t as if either he or Fraser could afford to bid on any of the art.

There were actually more than a few paintings Ray liked, which was all he knew about art – what he liked. Fraser got rather deeply involved in a discussion with one of the Canadian artists who turned out to have spent a summer helping curate antique and ancient Inuit art and artifacts for a tiny First Nations museum. Maybe inevitably – after Ray had slipped him a lot of cheese and hors d'oeuvres – Diefenbaker curled up under a wall-mounted fire extinguisher, attracting a small crowd of people who placed a number of bids on what they thought was an installation piece commenting on the changes global warming had wrought on Canadian wilderness and traditional First Nations ways of life.

On the drive home, Fraser cleared his throat.

Ray glanced at him. “What?”

Fraser fiddled with his Stetson in his lap a moment. “If – if I – if you – could, Ray…”

He trailed off.

Ray waited, but when Fraser remained silent for a bit and then put his Stetson back on the dashboard, Ray spoke up.

“Nightcap, you think?”

Fraser looked up at him with a mixture of relief and affection. “Yes, that’s what I meant to say. I also...” He cleared his throat and glanced away again. “I also wondered if, if, perhaps, possibly, you – we – might move beyond manual masturbation.”

Ray paused. “To…?”

Fraser jerked his head and cracked his neck nervously. “Fellatio is the proper term.”

“Uh-huh,” Ray replied. “On who, by who?”

Fraser cleared his throat nervously again. “On you. By whomever I choose. You have the right to refuse, of course.”

Ray pretended to think about it, but that lasted about two seconds. “Okay.”

“Really?” Fraser seemed both relieved and gratified.

Ray suppressed a smile. “Yeah, really. It’s not exactly a hardship, getting my cock sucked.” He twitched briefly, startled, when Fraser’s knuckles stroked down his cheek as he drove.

“I’d like,” Fraser said slowly, enunciating clearly, “to see your face as you climax from fellatio.” His thumb traced Ray’s cheekbone and then his jawline, ending up at Ray’s chin.

“Yeah?” Ray’s voice was husky, his cock already stirring.

Not even forty-five minutes and two beers later, Ray was up against Fraser, who was up against the bathroom stall wall in Nut Bush, an off-duty animal control officer on his knees in front of him. Fraser had started out beside Ray, one of his hands over Ray’s hand on the back of Roger’s or Robert’s or Roderick’s (whatever) neck, setting the rhythm but not choking the guy. But Roger/Roderick/whoever was pretty motivated and Ray knew less than a minute into it that Roger was going to make it _really_ good.

Somehow, Fraser wound up behind Ray, his chest against Ray’s back, one hand sliding all over Ray – from the fuzz above Ray’s cock to gentle pinches of Ray’s nipples, and everywhere in between. He stroked Ray’s quivering belly between his navel and where Roger’s or Roderick’s hand fisted at the base of Ray’s cock. He stroked from Ray’s hip to his ribs, and then moistened his thumb and forefinger with his artful tongue, the better to tweak Ray’s nipple. With his other hand, he tilted Ray’s head and face toward him for rough kisses. His tongue occasionally invaded Ray’s mouth, but just as frequently he backed off.

He watched Ray’s face, murmuring softly, “You’re so expressive, Ray… I can see your pleasure… I want to watch you o-orgasm…” as Ray thrust harder into Roger’s mouth, held Roger by the back of the head for better leverage.

“Fraser–”

“Ray, yes,” Fraser breathed.

“Hey,” Ray said tightly, “I’m, uh, gonna, oh, God–”

“Come for me, Ray,” Fraser breathed into his ear. He was behind Ray, holding Ray tight to him, his arm around Ray’s ribs.

And Ray did come for Fraser, mere seconds after Fraser asked, but – was that something firm beneath Fraser’s jeans, pressed up against his ass?

The orgasm was over so fast, he barely had time to register that Fraser was leaning him against the bathroom stall wall, smothering him with kisses.

“I knew it, Ray,” he whispered between kisses. “I knew you would… orgasm beautifully… your face hides nothing.”

“I...” Ray panted between Fraser’s kisses. “Know,” he continued. “Never could.”

“No, never,” Fraser murmured into Ray’s neck.

On the drive home, Ray guessed he must have imagined the sensation of Fraser’s erection behind him. Wishful thinking, he figured.

* * *

“What do you say, Mike?” Fraser said blandly to the young man who superficially resembled him, except for having brown eyes. Ray stood beside Fraser, trying to control the shaking in his knees and the butterflies in his stomach.

“Let me get this straight,” Mike said slowly, looking back and forth between Ray and Fraser. “You,” he looked pointedly at Ray, “are going to blow me. And you,” he looked at Fraser, “are going to watch.”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“Yeah,” Ray nodded weakly.

“Because…” Mike prompted.

“I can’t–” Fraser said.

“He likes to watch,” Ray interrupted, “got a real voyeur kink–”

“ –have sex with him,” Fraser finished.

“Fraser,” Ray murmured in Fraser’s ear. “He doesn’t need to know why.”

“He asked, Ray,” Fraser murmured back.

“Yeah,” Ray continued softly, “but you don’t have to tell him the truth. Or anything.”

“Um, okay,” Mike agreed, grinning. “Washroom?”

“Well–” Ray began.

“Certainly,” Fraser replied, taking Ray’s elbow and gesturing for Mike to walk ahead of them.

“Fraser,” Ray whispered while they followed Mike to the bathroom. “You sure you’re going to be okay with this?”

“Yes, Ray.” Fraser nodded.

“Because up ‘til now, _I_ got the hand jobs, the blow jobs, the – they do _me_ , Fraser. I don’t do _them_. Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser said patiently.

“See, ya say that now,” Ray’s voice was sharp and matter-of-fact, “but when I’m on my knees sucking his cock, you might feel different.”

“I assure you, Ray,” Fraser said calmly. “I already envisioned this. It will be fine.”

“You already – what?”

Mike pushed the bathroom door open and went in, Fraser pushing Ray ahead of him on Mike’s heels.

“You ‘already envisioned’ this?” Ray hissed at Fraser over his shoulder, his expression uncertain.

Fraser met his gaze calmly. “I anticipated that at some point, you would want to play a more active role.”

Two of the three stalls were occupied, but by the snorting sounds in one, only one was being used for the purpose intended.

“A more active role?” Ray whispered numbly. Fraser nodded.

The usual empty handicapped stall was large enough for the three of them. Mike pushed its door open and all three of them entered. Fraser shut the door behind them and locked it. Mike leaned back against the wall and began unbuttoning his jeans.

“One sec,” Ray said, holding up a finger. “Keep going,” he added and smiled, motioning for Mike to unzip. Then Ray pushed Fraser into the farthest corner. “Talk fast,” he demanded in a whisper.

“I anticipated that you would not only want to be the recipient of various acts, but that you might want to _perform_ these acts, as if you were performing them on _me_.”

Ray blinked at him. “You anticipated that?”

Fraser nodded. “You’re a fully sexual, sensual man, Ray. Why wouldn’t you?”

“Well,” Ray agreed weakly, “when you put it like that…”

“Am I getting sucked here tonight, or what?” Mike interrupted impatiently.

Fraser and Ray looked over. Mike had his pants open and underwear shoved down and was stroking his cock, already hard.

“Yes,” Fraser reassured Mike.

“Yeah,” Ray agreed. He turned back to Fraser briefly. “You better be okay with this,” he whispered harshly. “I do _not_ want to hear about this later – that I was too into it, that I was too enthusiastic–”

“You won’t, Ray,” Fraser reassured him. He turned Ray around and pushed him gently towards Mike.

Ray looked at Mike. “Uh. Okay,” he nodded. “Um.” He forced himself not to look at Fraser over his shoulder.

“No kissing,” Fraser said from his corner. “If you please.”

“Right,” Ray said.

“Fine,” Mike agreed, stroking his cock. “If we’re gonna…?” he added impatiently.

“Sorry,” Ray mumbled.

He put one hand on Mike’s hip, the other on the handicapped rail in the wall, and knelt in front of Mike. Mike stroked his cock in Ray’s face a couple times. He was circumcised and just a drop of pre-ejaculate glistened at the very tip. He touched it to Ray’s lips.

Ray licked his lips and then licked the head of Mike’s cock. Mike sighed audibly. Then Ray sucked the head of Mike’s cock into his mouth. Mike sucked in a breath, then slid his hand down to the base of his cock. Ray took his other hand from the rail so he was holding Mike by both hips. Then he covered Mike’s hand with one of his own, intensified his suction, covered his lips with his teeth, and dragged the head of Mike’s cock out of his mouth.

Mike inhaled sharply, so Ray did it again a couple more times. Mike slid his hand out from under Ray’s and braced it against the handicapped rail behind his ass. His other hand went to the back of Ray’s head. Ray closed his eyes and started sucking harder, up and down Mike’s cock, helping his mouth with his hand, stroking the shaft in rhythm with his sucking. He felt Mike’s fingers stroke firmly through his hair, stroke to the back of his neck, pressing there to encourage him to go down farther, take it deeper, move faster.

Except when he opened his eyes – just a little – Mike was gripping the handicapped rail with both hands.

The hand on the back of Ray’s neck, the fingers combing through his hair – that was Fraser.

Ray let go then, relaxed and let the pressure of Fraser’s hand on his neck tell him what to do and how fast to do it. He just kept his lips over his teeth, kept steady suction, breathed through his nose on the off-strokes, helped his mouth with his hand. Mike grunted softly above him, occasionally groaning, occasionally whispering, “Yeah,” “That’s it,” “Suck it,” “That’s good,” and “Fuck, yeah.”

Ray could tell by Mike’s panting that he was getting close, but Fraser’s hand on the back of his head was firm and unrelenting. So despite his jaw  starting to ache and feeling the imprint of his own teeth in his lips, Ray didn’t break his rhythm or slow down, though he could tell things about Mike’s arousal from sucking him that Fraser couldn’t know from directing the action.

“Hey, I’m–” Mike groaned. “I’m gonna–”

Fraser pulled Ray off Mike’s cock with a firm grasp on the spikes of Ray's hair just as the warm spurts of semen began.

“Oh, shit, God, damn, yeah, yeah, uh,” Mike groaned as he came.

One spurt hit Ray in the cheek, another in his neck; Ray dutifully kept stroking Mike’s cock through it. Fraser held his face away from Mike’s come, fingers still in Ray's hair. Ray stroked up and down Mike’s shaft and over his sensitive head, semen spurting weakly between his fingers and into his hand, now.

“Fuuuck,” Mike moaned softly. “Jeeesus.”

Then, somehow, there was a wad of toilet paper wiping Ray’s cheek and his neck, even though Fraser still held him firmly but not roughly by the hair. Ray stroked Mike’s cock until Mike’s hand closed over Ray’s and stopped him. Ray shifted his gaze from Mike’s cock up to his face. Mike had slumped back against the bathroom stall wall, eyes closed and mouth open.

Then Ray looked up at Fraser, who was still dabbing away semen from Ray’s face. Fraser’s expression was flushed, absorbed… rapt. He focused on wiping Mike’s semen off Ray, but then realized Ray was looking at him.

Their eyes met. Fraser’s gaze softened and his flush deepened, but his grip on Ray’s hair tightened. He quickly tossed the wad of toilet paper in the toilet, then pulled Ray’s head back farther. Ray felt the pull of his thighs being stretched, as Fraser leaned swiftly down to capture Ray’s mouth with his own, devouring Ray’s. His other hand went to Ray’s throat, just below Ray’s jaw. He thrust his tongue into Ray’s mouth, there where another man’s cock had just been, and kissed Ray roughly, deeply, thoroughly. Ray let Fraser hold him by a hand on his throat and a hand in his hair and _take_ his mouth.

Mike was zipping and buttoning when Fraser let Ray have his mouth back. Fraser slipped a strong arm under Ray’s, below his armpit, and hauled him to his feet. Ray’s knees protested slightly, half-fallen asleep from the hard, tiled bathroom floor. He didn’t even want to know how dirty the floor was where he’d been kneeling.

“That was something,” Mike murmured. “You guys – uh. Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” Fraser murmured, his lips grazing Ray’s neck where he’d wiped Mike’s semen away. “Thank you kindly,” he added politely.

Ray cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, feeling’s mutual,” he croaked and nodded to Mike over Fraser’s head as Fraser nuzzled his cheek.

Mike adjusted himself one last time. “Uh. See ya around?”

“Sure,” Ray said weakly.

Fraser nodded. Mike unlocked the stall door and left. Fraser shut it and locked it behind him, to the irritation and protests of a couple of guys outside the stall.

“Come on, man!” one guy complained, pounding on the door.

Fraser shoved Ray up against the wall of the bathroom stall, kissing him roughly. His lips roved down to Ray’s jaw, then his ear, then his neck – lips caressing, teeth scraping, tongue licking. In between kisses, bites, and licks, Fraser spoke in a low growl.

“I knew you’d… be beautiful… fellating… another man.”

Ray clutched Fraser to him, one hand tight on the back of Fraser’s neck, the other tight in Fraser’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” he whispered cautiously.

“Yes, Ray.” Fraser nuzzled his neck.

“You like watching me suck him?”

“Very much so.” Fraser’s words were hoarse behind Ray’s ear.

One of his hands still held the back of Ray’s neck; the other slid down Ray’s chest and abdomen, feeling for Ray’s cock, finding it hard. Fraser pulled back to look Ray in the face. His expression was dead serious as he stroked Ray through his pants.

“That was me in your mouth, Ray,” Fraser whispered. He kissed Ray feverishly, his eyes shining. “In my mind, that was me, by proxy. Weren’t you thinking of me?” He stroked Ray’s cock again, a long, slow, firm stroke up.

“Yes,” Ray replied immediately, because he had been, feeling Fraser’s hand on the back of his neck.

Fraser kissed him again, and then whispered against his lips. “The whole time?” he asked, stroking Ray’s cock again.

“The whole time,” Ray said emphatically, because it was strangely true, remembering Fraser’s fingers in his hair, his hand moving Ray’s head up and down. All of this, this was all Fraser’s doing, his way of _meeting Ray’s needs_.

Fraser’s smile was infectious when he drew back. He squeezed Ray’s cock through his pants. “I knew it, Ray.”

“Uh,” Ray groaned, pushing into Fraser’s hand. “Should’ve had him return the favor.”

“Oh, no, Ray,” Fraser said earnestly. “He can’t have both.” He kissed Ray again, and stroked and squeezed Ray’s cock through his pants, making Ray harder still.

“Both?” Ray echoed uncertainly.

“Both your mouth and your orgasm,” Fraser murmured against Ray’s lips.

“He can’t?” Ray asked faintly, clutching the back of Fraser’s neck and his shoulder tighter.

Fraser shook his head and smiled warmly. “Let’s find someone else to help you with that.”

“Come on, hurry up!” Another guy yelled and pounded on the stall door.

“Really?” Ray asked, slightly stunned.

“Yes,” Fraser said, sliding his cock-caressing hand back up to Ray’s shoulder and kissing him softly again before he stepped back slightly. “You deserve that, and more.”

“I do?” Ray’s lips felt numb, but from kissing or sucking cock or just general shock and surprise, he wasn’t sure.

“Oh, yes,” Fraser said. “Don’t you think so?” He unlocked the stall door and opened it, taking Ray by the elbow.

“Sure, I guess,” Ray agreed dazedly, letting Fraser push him ahead through the open stall door.

“’Bout fuckin’ time,” a bearded guy in tight jeans complained, his buddy draped along his back.

“Thank you kindly for your patience,” Fraser said, propelling Ray ahead of himself by his elbow.

It didn’t take twenty minutes – during which Fraser made sure to stroke Ray through his jeans every so often, just to keep him hard (which shocked Ray, though it shouldn’t have; in the loud, dark, crowded bar, no one cared or even noticed) – before Ray was again in the same stall.

This time, Ray stood with his right side up against Fraser and the young man knelt in front of him. This time, though, Fraser didn’t put his hands on the man on his knees. He turned Ray’s head towards him and kissed Ray continuously while – Tom? Ron? It was so loud in the bar, Ray wasn’t even sure – sucked Ray off.

Fraser’s tongue was wicked and knowing, and the young guy’s mouth was wet and hot. Tom – or Ron – moved his mouth faster up and down Ray’s shaft, tightening the suction at the head until Ray could hardly stand it. His breath around Fraser’s lips and tongue grew irregular, rapid and shallow, until he tore his mouth away from Fraser’s to gasp.

“I’m gonna–”

“That’s right,” Fraser whispered roughly into Ray’s temple.

“I’m coming,” Ray groaned for the benefit of Tom, Ron, whatever his name was, who took his mouth off Ray’s cock and finished him with his hand.

“Come, Ray,” Fraser urged, moving his mouth to Ray’s cheek, then his jaw, then his neck, murmuring continuously: “Come now, come _hard_ for me…”

Ray’s body shook as he spurted into the guy’s jacking hand again and again, Fraser’s lips brushing their mantra against the skin of his neck. “That’s good, so good, Ray, you’re so good to me…”

If he hadn’t been still coming, knees shaking, the hair on the back of his neck standing up because of Fraser’s mouth, Ray would have laughed. He was bewildered as to how he was being good to _Fraser._ The only person who hadn’t gotten anything out of tonight _was_ Fraser.

* * *

Fraser was backed up against the wall of the bathroom stall, Ray pressed up against him and rhythmically shoved harder into him, again and again, as the man behind Ray rutted exquisitely up into him. Fraser's mouth was hungry on Ray's throat, his hands running up and down Ray's flanks and the back of Ray's neck, into Ray's hair. Ray gripped Fraser’s shoulders, his hard, naked cock crushed deliciously between himself and Fraser with each thrust of the man behind him into his ass.

Fraser’s mouth came back to Ray’s and they kissed hard, teeth knocking as the man behind Ray sped up, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower, Ray’s pleasure rising. Ray’s breath quickened; he panted into Fraser’s mouth. He was close, so close. His mouth slid sideways, their cheeks rubbing five o’clock shadow beard burn into each other.

But Ray felt something. There was something – something firm against his own cock, something hard beneath Fraser’s pants –

"Fraser," Ray said hoarsely. "Fraser. I'm–"

"Yes, Ray. Yes." Fraser put both hands on Ray's jaw, bringing their mouths together again.

The rhythm of the man behind Ray grew frenzied and Ray moaned into Fraser's mouth, groaning just before his body jerked against Fraser's, coming hard. Fraser moved one hand to hold the back of Ray's head, to hold their mouths together. With his other, he wiped sweat from Ray's brow.

Ray broke the kiss, biting into Fraser's flannel-covered shoulder, still coming. He spurted on Fraser’s jeans, and Fraser didn’t seem to care. Ray panted hoarsely through his teeth into Fraser’s flannel shirt, shuddering in his arms. Still he felt the heat and yielding mound of Fraser’s arousal.

As his spurts grew weaker and farther apart, Ray pressed his forehead against Fraser’s shoulder. Fraser held the back of Ray’s neck tightly and stroked his knuckles down the side of Ray’s face, sweeping away a trickle of sweat.

Ray slid one hand lightly down Fraser’s flank to his hip, then ghosted it over Fraser’s fly.

Fraser _was_ hard. Ray’s hand moved back to the side, to Fraser’s hip. But he froze, feeling suddenly numb. Fraser didn’t stop stroking his knuckles up and down Ray’s cheek and jaw, murmuring into Ray’s hairline. Ray leaned heavily against Fraser.

The man behind Ray slid his hands up and down Ray's back. Ray's T-shirt was wet with sweat. The man leaned against Ray, his bulk a heavier weight against Ray and so also against Fraser. He leaned over Ray's shoulder, his lips in Ray's ear. Fraser tugged Ray’s face into his neck, pulling Ray’s face away from the guy’s lips.

"We said no kissing," Fraser murmured, clenching his jaw.

"Uh. Right,” the man said.

He gripped Ray's shoulder a moment and then released it. He grasped the condom around the root of his softening cock. Ray moaned softly into Fraser's neck as the man pulled out of his ass. Fraser tightened his hold on the back of Ray’s neck and put his other arm around Ray to pull him closer.

Ray clutched at Fraser’s hips, leaning heavily on Fraser, spent with physical pleasure, but hollowed by the difference between _can’t_ and _won’t_.

* * *

Fraser drove them back to Ray’s apartment.

“You’re very quiet,” he finally said to Ray, whose head lolled back on the headrest, staring out the passenger window.

Ray didn’t reply for so long that Fraser looked over at him, concerned. When Ray finally spoke, his tone was detached. “So you didn’t notice it, huh?”

“Notice what?” Fraser asked curiously, looking back out the windshield.

“When we were in the john with that guy.”

Fraser thought a minute. “When he tried to kiss you?”

Ray shook his head. “No.”

Fraser thought a moment. “I’m sorry, Ray, I’m… not sure to what you’re referring.”

Ray rubbed his forehead and then his eyes. “I don’t know how you can be so smart, Fraser, and miss things right in front of you.”

Fraser looked over at him, baffled, but then back at the road. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Ray,” he said apologetically. “Did I miss something?”

“Yeah, Frase,” Ray sighed. “You did.”

Fraser’s silence was expectant. When nothing further was forthcoming from Ray, he spoke again. “And would you care to enlighten me?”

“When we get back to my place,” Ray said wearily.

“All right,” Fraser replied uncertainly.

But when they got back to the apartment, Ray found himself too exhausted to bring it up. He stood in the kitchen, both hands braced on the counter. Fraser hung up his leather jacket and then set his Stetson on the coffee table.

Ray shook his head. He went into the bedroom – he’d started to think of it as _their_ bedroom – and stripped off his shirt and pants. Fraser followed him and stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“What were you going to tell me, Ray?”

“I’m gonna take a shower, Frase,” Ray said cautiously.

“All right.” Fraser hesitated. “But you’ll tell me?”

“It’s… not important,” Ray said shortly. He walked towards the bedroom door, but Fraser stood in the way.

“You mind?” Ray asked, not looking at Fraser.

“I’m sorry,” Fraser said hastily, backing out of Ray’s way.

Ray walked on down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door rather too forcefully. He turned the water in the shower on full blast, as hot as possible. He stepped into the tub, felt scalded for about ten seconds, and then began to relax under the hot water. He put his palms up on the tiled wall and pressed his forehead against it. Five times he pounded his closed fist against the tile.

A few minutes later, Ray turned the water off, stepped out of the tub, toweled off briefly, and walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. He headed for his bedroom.

Fraser appeared in the doorway just as Ray sat on the edge of the bed, putting on clean boxer briefs. He looked at the floor.

“Did you want some tea?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“What…” Fraser hesitated. “What were you going to tell me?”

“Nothing,” Ray sighed wearily. “Just – I gotta ask: all this, what we're doing… it makes you happy?”

Fraser paused. “Yes,” he said carefully.

“’Cause we're meeting my needs,” Ray explained quietly. “But does it – what we do – meet yours?” He looked up at Fraser, his gaze concerned and serious.

Fraser stared at Ray for a long moment. “Yes, for the most part.”

“Okay. That, that's good.” Ray smiled encouragingly.

“Yes…”

“But, uh,” Ray looked down and fiddled with the damp bath towel next to him on the bed. “What does that mean, ‘for the most part’?”

Fraser’s cheeks colored. “It means, it more or less meets my needs.”

Ray looked up and their gazes locked. “’More or less’?” he asked softly.

Fraser blushed even pinker. “Yes,” he said defensively.

“Okay,” Ray agreed, fingering the damp towel. “If you say so.”

He stood up with the towel. Fraser let Ray wander back through his bedroom doorway to put the towel in the bathroom over the shower curtain rod to dry.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_(Ray finds in his affinity for e. e. cummings some correlation to his relationship with Fraser)_

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in  
  
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere  
  
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done  
  
by only me is your doing)

 

_(third poem in Ray's Mead composition notebook, in the style of e. e. cummings)_

what have i done what have i not done (what is it that comes undone)

what must i do what must i not do (that doing or not doing is your doing)

and what is done by only me is the hollow won’t of us

(can’t not can’t)

 


	9. Chapter 9

Ray and Fraser sat in comfortable chairs, confronting a curly-haired travel agent warily looking from one to the other.

"Gianna in some kind of trouble?" she asked.

"That's what we're trying to figure out, ma'am," Fraser stated, removing his hat.

Her eyes drank him in where he sat with perfect upright posture. Ray stifled a sigh; it might get them farther, even without a warrant, if she melted into a puddle of compliance at Fraser's good looks and Canadian charm.

"She's disappeared under suspicious circumstances," Ray said. He leaned forward. "Normally we wouldn't share details of an ongoing investigation, but there was evidence of foul play at her apartment."

The woman looked horrified and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, gosh, I hope she's okay. Um, normally, we would need a warrant..."

"Ma'am," Fraser leaned forward too, placing a red elbow on the desk. "Time may be of the essence, and warrants take time."

She looked crestfallen, but then brightened. "Well, this once, I don't think the boss will mind."

"The boss?" Ray asked sharply.

"Oh, yeah, he and Gianna go way back," she replied, typing on her keyboard. "His family and her cousins in Italy are always giving her gifts to bring back to family here. She's always bitching about how much extra she has to pay for extra weight her bags have on the return trip."

Ray and Fraser exchanged glances.

"You got any pamphlets anywhere here about minimizing packing? Like, reducing the amount of baggage you bring?"

She looked over as she typed. "Uh, sure."

"Can I get one?"

"Are you planning a trip, Ray?"

"No, Frase, I'm just curious."

"About?"

"Reducing baggage."

"Oh." Fraser gave him that bland, public expression. The printer began jerkily printing.

"I'm going to print her itinerary, but she doesn't stick to it completely."

"She doesn't?" Ray asked.

"No, she makes a lot of side trips. And she has cousins over there; sometimes she visits them."

"That pamphlet?" Ray prompted.

"Oh, right," she replied. She rolled back in her wheeled chair a bit and opened a drawer in the short file cabinet beside her desk. "Here. This advice is summarized from all the best tips from flight attendants."

She handed the pamphlet to Ray.

He looked it over while the printer slowly printed. "You think this advice translates to other areas of life?"

She blinked. Fraser looked over at Ray. "Well, I… I never thought of it that way," she said. "I suppose it could."

Ray tucked it in an inside pocket just as the itinerary finished printing.

"Here you go," she said, taking it off the printer.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," Fraser said as he and Ray both stood.

* * *

Ray looked at the pamphlet "Pack light." "Take only the things you need." "Don't be sentimental." "Don't bring items you can get where you're going." He tucked it back into his inside jacket pocket.

"You think she's smuggling and the smugglers she works with got pissed, like maybe she double crossed 'em or something?" Ray stopped at the red light and pushed up his sunglasses, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, her stated complaints of paying extra for overweight luggage on the way back would tend to support such an interpretation." Fraser scraped his eyebrow with his thumb as Ray put his sunglasses back down and watched.

Ray opened his mouth to speak, then shut it and thought for a moment. "So, listen, what you said the other night."

Fraser immediately stiffened. "About...?"

"About what we're doing 'more or less meeting your needs', that," Ray said.

Fraser cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Oh, that," he said weakly.

"Well, what's less about it? You said, 'more or less' – so what's the 'less' part?"

"Uh, well – Ray, this isn't, this – do we have to talk about this now?" Fraser asked, half plaintive, half petulant.

"Well, no. But we're stuck in mid-day traffic on the way back to the district, so why not?"

Fraser sighed and pulled at his collar with two fingers and looked away, out the passenger window. "No reason."

"I just meant," Ray said gently, looking straight ahead at the traffic, "that I get – a lot of pleasure from it, Fraser. A lot. I know that those guys, they're your stand-ins. And it's you I'm thinking about when I'm with them. And when you," his breath hitched, and the root of his cock stirred, "watch, I know you're thinking of yourself with me. That they're you."

Fraser cleared his throat and tugged at his collar again. "Yes, well," he gestured helplessly towards the passenger window, not looking at Ray. "I thought this was all a given. Your point…?"

"Well," Ray said slowly, "I get off. They get off. We get _pleasure_. But… do you? Get pleasure? I mean, you should, I think. Get pleasure out of it. ’Cause if you're not, then I guess that's the 'or less' part of the 'more or less,' right?

Fraser was quiet and still for a long time, but Ray stubbornly didn't break the silence.

"I don't – why should I?" Fraser replied very softly.

"Why shouldn't you?" Ray replied just as softly. "You said – we're lovers. I want you to feel the same pleasure I feel, even if it's not directly with me. You could… do it yourself." He paused significantly. "Like, while you watch."

"Oh, well," Fraser's voice wavered. "I, I, that's not – that's, uh, that's..." he trailed off and was quiet for a moment. "That's private, Ray.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably and glanced sideways at Ray. “Very private."

"Yeah, but everybody does it, Frase," Ray replied easily. "I mean, everybody knows everybody does it, just nobody really talks about it much. Well, except some guys do. Anyway, isn't what I'm doing with those guys very private?"

Fraser hesitated. "Yes," he answered, but it was like a question.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty exposed. And you see everything," Ray went on. "I – I can't hide what I feel in those, those moments. Can't hide it." He swallowed. "It's, like, a disclosure. But I – I never see the same disclosure from you. It's a little... it's a little vulnerable. A _lot_ vulnerable."

Fraser nodded, looking away again. "I see. You desire... some reciprocal vulnerability on my part."

"Yeah," Ray replied. "Exactly."

"I... I... well, Ray," Fraser hesitated, fidgeting. He brushed lint from his Serge, examined his cuticles, touched the brim of his Stetson. Diefenbaker made a noise in the back seat and Fraser cocked his head and clenched his jaw, but didn't look over his shoulder. "I'm not very good at vulnerability. You’re much better at it."

"Yeah, but you could… practice. Practice getting better at it."

Fraser thought about that a moment. "I suppose I could," he admitted.

"Maybe next time?"

"Oh," Fraser's voice shook slightly, but whether with relief or nerves was impossible to tell. "Look, we're already at the district. Let me, let me get the itinerary to Francesca, a-and you can look into Ms. Ciavarella's c-connections with the owner of the travel agency."

Ray hesitated, but let it go. "Sure, Frase."

* * *

Ray and Fraser and a new guy were in the bathroom stall at Nut Bush. Ray was backed up against the wall while the man on his knees sucked him off. Ray grunted and groaned, thrusting into the man's mouth. He and Fraser held hands, fingers interlaced, gripping each other like a vise. Fraser leaned against Ray, his stomach and chest along Ray’s side.

“Fraser,” Ray whispered. “Do it… now. Wanna… watch.”

“Ray,” Fraser kissed him, then murmured into his mouth. “Do…what…?”

“Do… yourself,” Ray panted and pleaded. “Wanna watch… while you… watch me.”

“Ray, I–”

Fraser leaned against Ray and then pulled back. He pressed his forehead into Ray's temple and let go of Ray’s hand; he slid that hand down his abdomen and rubbed it over his denim-covered fly, over the mound of arousal visible there. The breath that came out between his teeth was more like a whimper.

“I'm… close,” Ray whispered. “We could… come together. That'd be,” he groaned, “so cool…”

“Ray, I…” Fraser rubbed his hand over his swollen crotch and moaned softly.

“Yeah,” Ray whispered tightly. “Do it.”

The sucking on Ray’s cock grew more intense. He thrust helplessly into the guy's mouth, feeling the suction and the hand at the base of his cock tighten. Fraser's hand moved over his bulging fly faster. He moaned once more into Ray's ear.

“Fraser – hey, guy – I'm going to–” Ray gasped, and then he was coming, hard, fast, over too soon.

“Ray – oh, Ray–” Fraser gulped, his hand moving faster over his clothed erection, his hoarse breath in Ray’s ear.

“Shit,” the guy on his knees muttered.

“Sorry,” Ray panted.

“Ray…” Fraser shuddered next to Ray, suddenly bowing his head to press his face into Ray’s shoulder. Ray slipped an arm around him and held him tightly, felt him shake and shudder.

“Yeah, Frase. Come on. Come.” He pressed his lips into Fraser’s soft hair.. “Good, huh?” he whispered to Fraser.

“God, yes,” Fraser moaned quietly.

“That’s how I feel, Frase,” Ray murmured. “When we do this. ’Cause of you.”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser still panted, his breath slowing. “All right.” Fraser drew a few deep breaths, still shivering against Ray, his hand over the fly of his jeans.

“Thanks, man,” the guy on his knees said.

Ray extended his other hand and gave the guy a hand up, and the guy clapped a hand on Fraser’s back.

“Gotta do this again some time,” the man said with a cheerfully sly grin. Then he pulled the door open and was gone.

Fraser and Ray stood there, holding each other, oblivious to the noise in the bathroom and in the bar outside it. After a few minutes Ray slipped his arms from Fraser and stepped back. He tucked himself quickly back in his pants and zipped and buttoned back up. Fraser leaned back against the bathroom stall wall, his hairline damp with sweat and face flushed. He was strangely passive, but followed Ray with his eyes.

Ray unbuttoned Fraser's jeans and unzipped his fly, tugging down Fraser’s jeans and briefs, which were sticky with semen.

"This'll help a little," he murmured, grabbing a wad of toilet paper.

He registered in a detached way that this was the very first time he was seeing Fraser's cock even though they had been dating for months and he'd been having orgasms in Fraser's presence for weeks. But this wasn't the time for those thoughts, so he pushed them away. He wiped Fraser's semen off his softening cock, the damp head sliding back into the foreskin, and wiped come from the dark, curly hair around it as best he could. He threw the toilet paper in the toilet.

Fraser’s lean belly trembled above Ray’s ministrations before Ray gently tucked Fraser back into his boxers, pulled them up, zipped and buttoned his fly. He wasn’t sure if he should tuck Fraser’s flannel shirt back in, so he didn’t.

Fraser just looked at him, his eyes large and dark. Their gazes met, but Fraser didn’t say anything. Ray pressed their foreheads together and kissed Fraser softly, then grabbed Fraser’s wrist and gently dragged Fraser from the bathroom stall. Fraser dug in his heels a bit by the sink.

"You don’t have to wash your hands," Ray said quietly. "You didn't touch anything." He paused. "Want a root beer?"

Fraser shook his head, looking a bit dazed. “Want to go?" Ray asked.

Fraser nodded.

"Okay," Ray said.

They went out to the bar where they'd left their jackets and Fraser's hat. Ray grabbed their jackets, handed Fraser his hat, and took Fraser's elbow. He gently pushed Fraser ahead of him towards the door to the street.

Out on the street, Dief trotted up to them, cocked his head at Fraser, and yipped. Fraser looked around like he'd just snapped out of a daze, but he just looked at Dief without speaking. He shrugged Ray's hand off, though, so Ray let go of his elbow.

They pulled their jackets on and headed for the GTO. Ray unlocked Fraser's door first, like he usually did, and then his own. He slid behind the wheel and waited for Fraser to buckle his seat belt. Fraser sat there, one booted foot still on the ground, the passenger door open. He looked at his hat in his lap.

Ray waited. Finally, he said softly, "Fraser. Can we go?"

Fraser started, like he'd been jerked out of a reverie. "I'm sorry," he said slowly.

He pulled his foot in and slammed the passenger door shut rather forcefully. He buckled his seat belt, then leaned his head back on the headrest and looked out the window. Fraser said nothing the entire trip back to Ray's apartment. When they pulled into Ray's spot, he again stirred as if waking. He turned to Ray.

"I thought you were taking me to the Consulate."

Ray looked at him oddly. "Why would I? We always come back here, after..."

Fraser looked at him blankly. "Oh." He cleared his throat. “Right.”

"Come on," Ray said, removing his seat belt and sliding out of the car. He held the seat back for Dief, who yipped at Fraser again.

They took the elevator. Fraser was silent, so Ray didn't speak, either. When they got into Ray's apartment, Fraser did everything he usually did – jacket off, hung in the front closet, hat on the coffee table – but he was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Want to take a shower?” Ray offered as Fraser stood in the living room.

Fraser’s gaze shifted from a thousand-yard stare to look Ray in the face. “All right,” he said quietly.

Ray got Fraser clean towels and put them on the rim of the bathroom sink. “Thank you,” Fraser said, but his voice was distant.

“Don’t use all the hot water.” Ray tried for a bit of humor, but Fraser didn’t seem to notice.

Ray took a seat on the couch with a beer and put on ESPN. He heard the shower running. Dief jumped up on the couch next to him.

“Big night for him, huh, Dief,” Ray said softly.

Dief made a series of yips and short yowls, lying down and putting both paws on Ray’s thigh.

“Yeah, but… he won’t even talk about the fact that the whole ‘I can’t’ thing isn’t even true. It’s not that he can’t. It’s that he won’t. I think I know why, but…” Ray trailed off, and shook his head. “Still hurts.”

Dief laid his head down on his paws where they lay on Ray’s thigh. “Yeah,” Ray sighed.

That was how Fraser found them when he got out of the shower. “Ray,” he said quietly, standing in Ray’s living room with only a towel around his hips, “I didn’t use all the hot water.”

Ray looked over at him. “Great. Me next.” But he didn’t move, except to look back at the TV screen, now showing college football scores he didn’t even give a shit about.

Fraser stood there a moment longer, but when Ray said nothing more, he went back to the bathroom and then to Ray’s bedroom. Ray gently nudged Dief’s nose and paws off his thigh and heaved himself up from the couch.

* * *

“That was really big,” Fraser said as they drove back from the IMAX movie.

“Really big and really loud,” Ray agreed. “I figured you’d like a movie about Alaska, but I didn’t think it would be that big and loud. But that’s IMAX for you.”

“Still,” Fraser said warmly, “thank you, Ray. It reminded me so much of home. Thank you very much.”

“We could even go see it again, you know,” Ray said. “That’s a thing we Americans do, see movies multiple times.”

“Oh,” Fraser said thoughtfully. “Well…” he hesitated. “That might be nice.”

“Really?” Ray couldn’t believe he might have converted Fraser to an American perspective on anything.

“Possibly,” Fraser said, gentle humor in his voice, “if terribly indulgent.”

“Indulging you,” Ray said slyly, “is what I live for, Fraser.”

Fraser slid closer in the front seat of the car and extended his hand to reach for Ray’s. Ray groped for Fraser’s while watching where he was driving, and they intertwined their fingers. Ray ran his thumb along the hard edge of the ring he’d given Fraser. Fraser hadn’t given it back and had done exactly what he’d said he would do. He wore it on a chain under his Henley under his uniform tunic during work hours. The rest of the time – in his private, personal time – he wore it on his hand.

“Should we…?” Ray said euphemistically, cocking his head at a cross street that led west towards Nut Bush.

“We could,” Fraser said, his voice vibrating slightly with warmth.

“Okay,” Ray agreed, turning the car towards the bar.

* * *

It was louder, rowdier, and more crowded than usual because a Bulls game was on; if they won this game and the next, they were in the playoffs.

Ray and Fraser waited for their usual bar stools to become available – they were currently occupied – at the ledge that ringed the interior wall to serve as overflow. Ray drank a beer and Fraser his usual ginger ale, while Ray squinted at one of the TVs half-heartedly, unable to make out the score.

“I’ll be back,” he said loudly into Fraser’s ear. “I gotta go to the can.”

In the bathroom, he stood in front of the urinal pissing, until he realized someone was standing pointedly next to him, not urinating. He looked over; there was something familiar-looking about the guy.

“Hi,” he said to the guy with the vaguely Fraser-like hair and steel-gray eyes.

“Hi, again,” the other guy said, and then Ray’s stomach did a little flip. Because of course sooner or later he was going to run into someone he’d already been with while Fraser watched – without Fraser.

“You never called,” the guy said. Then Ray remembered who he was: Dean, the very first proxy lover Fraser had found to stand in for himself with Ray.

The bathroom door opened behind him and Fraser appeared.

“Yeah,” Ray lied, “sorry. I washed the jacket with your number in it, and the napkin was destroyed.”

Fraser caught his eye and approached from behind Dean just as Ray finished pissing and shook his dick off to tuck back into his underwear and jeans.

“Oh.” Dean nodded. “Well, I’m here tonight.” He lightly punched Ray in the shoulder. “Hit me up.” Dean, his back to Fraser, leaned closer. “Or, you know, I heard you got a sweet mouth, too. I’m up for that.”

Ray felt his cheeks flush and Fraser came to a dead standstill behind Dean. He cleared his throat. “Oh, really?” he asked coolly. “From whom did you hear this?”

Dean turned to look at Fraser, and then looked quizzically back at Ray. “Everybody knows.”

“Do they now,” Fraser murmured, his face going blank and white, which was how Ray knew he was supremely pissed off.

Dean shrugged. “Well, yeah,” he smiled conspiratorially and approvingly at Ray.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Fraser said, reaching around Dean to firmly grasp Ray’s shoulder. His grip on Ray’s shoulder was painful as he directed Ray out of the men’s bathroom.

“Sure thing,” Dean called after them. “Just let me know when–”

Fraser nearly dragged Ray from the bathroom, only to pick up his Stetson at the bar, and push Ray ahead of himself towards the door. Ray looked back once at Fraser. He was tight-lipped, a muscle in his jaw jumping. When they got to the GTO, Fraser let go of Ray and thrust him towards the car. Ray took a hasty step to maintain his balance, unlocked Fraser’s door and then quickly rounded the car to unlock his own. Diefenbaker wisely went to Ray’s side to be let in.

Fraser was already in the car and had his seat belt on when Ray pushed the seat back and slid in. He put the keys in the ignition, started her up, and pulled away from the curb. He side-eyed Fraser, whose bodily stiffness was tightening by the second.

“What – what on earth makes that man think he has any right to – to even touch you?” Fraser growled.

“Because,” Ray said slowly. “He already did? He was the first, the first handjob–”

Fraser looked at Ray, his expression a cross between wounded and furious. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Ray looked over at him, baffled. “Nothing.”

Fraser grabbed the collar of Ray’s jacket, and jerked Ray towards him. “ _What aren’t you telling me?_ ”

“Hey! Driving!” Ray reached up and pried Fraser’s hand off his jacket with his non-driving hand. “Get your hand off me,” he gritted out. “You trying to get us both killed? I told you, he was the first guy you had me–”

Fraser yanked his hand back, clenching both hands into fists on his thighs. “That doesn’t – that doesn’t mean he can just, he can just _have_ you, whenever he wants, any _way_ he wants! And how – how can they talk about you that way?”

Ray took a deep breath, trying to maintain calm for both of them. “Fraser,” he said matter-of-factly, “by now, a bunch of different guys _have_ had me there, in one way or another.”

“But only once each! Not – not in – a-an o-ongoing affair,” Fraser objected, his voice trembling, “right? You n-never, you never, w-went back without me, you d-didn’t do anything with anyone without me, did you? Because I swear, Ray–” his voice thundered over Dief’s yips in the back seat, “I swear if you have–” Fraser’s voice was more threatening than Ray had ever heard – a side of Fraser he had never, ever seen.

“Who gave you that goddamn ring you don’t wear most of the time, Fraser?” Ray snapped. “ _No_ , I never went there without you! _No_ , I didn’t do anything with anyone without you watching! Not all guys are like you – chivalrous. Some are gossips and some are pigs! Did you not read the graffiti in the bathroom?” Ray sighed, hesitant to state the obvious, but feeling it nevertheless ought to be said. “What did you think would happen? This was inevitable! Especially going to the same damn bar all the time!"

Dief yipped from the back seat, and Fraser tossed him a hurt look over his shoulder before staring straight ahead. A few blocks from Ray’s apartment building, he spoke, his voice tight.

“I would like to go to the Consulate.”

“Why?” Ray asked, his hands tense on the steering wheel.

“I just – I want to go home.”

“I didn’t do anything, Fraser," Ray gritted.

“I didn’t say you did, Ray,” Fraser snapped.

“So you punish me, leave me alone – on our date night – ’cause of other guys who read the situation the way they wanted to,” Ray said flatly.

“That isn’t–” Fraser burst out. “I am not–” he started over.

“Then why do you want to go home?”

“I just do,” Fraser said, voice low and tight.

“Just say it, Fraser.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Fraser hedged.

“You do too,” Ray snapped back. “You’re mad because they talked about me, because I got a _reputation_ there now, because of what we’ve been _doing_. You’re angry – at me, at yourself, at the situation. _Just say it_.”

“Well, maybe you _gave_ them the impression you were available for more,” Fraser accused.

"Okay, that’s _it._ ” Ray slammed on the brakes and pulled the car over in a no-parking zone. 

Fraser immediately had his hand on the passenger door handle.

“Do _not_ open that door, Fraser.” Ray grabbed Fraser’s forearm in a vise-like grip. If Fraser planned to leave, he would have to take Ray with him – across the front seat and through the passenger door. “Do _not_ open that door! We are gonna talk about this.”

“There is no point.”

Fraser attempted to pull his arm from Ray’s grasp, but Ray was having none of it – he only tightened his grip further. In the back of Ray's mind, warning bells rang. This was exactly the way domestic brawls he’d responded to as a rookie started.

“Do _not_ blame me,” Ray said through clenched teeth. “All I did was _exactly_ what you asked me to, _exactly_ the way you told me, _every_ time you asked me – no more and no less.”

Fraser refused to look at Ray. He shook his head and looked out the window. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

“None of this was my idea,” Ray growled. “It was all _your_ idea. You _can’t_ blame me and you _know_ it.”

“Because I _can’t_! _We_ can’t! This was our _only_ option!” Fraser shouted at the passenger window.

“Is it? Is it, _really_?”

Fraser attempted to wrench his arm from Ray’s grasp, but Ray grabbed on with both hands. Fraser’s head whipped around to glare at Ray.

“Let go of me,” he said more coldly and calmly than Ray had ever heard him. “Let go of me _now_.”

“I’ll let go,” Ray said, taking slow even breaths to stay composed, “but this conversation isn’t over.”

“Yes. It. Is.” Fraser’s voice and face were calm, blank.

Ray took a deep breath and let it out. 

“There is a difference between can’t and won’t, Fraser,” he said softly.  He leaned closer as he loosened his grasp on Fraser’s arm, until they were almost nose to nose. Fraser’s blank expression shaded into fear now.  “You have your reasons. I won’t ask why. But you’ve been lying about that from the start.”

Fraser’s mouth fell open and he said nothing for several seconds. He closed his mouth, fear shading into that blank expression again, his arm rigid in Ray’s loosening grasp. Ray let go of Fraser’s arm, the passenger door opened immediately, and Fraser half-fell, half-jumped out of the GTO. He didn’t even shut the door. He just walked rapidly away, his open pea coat flapping around him.

Ray looked over his shoulder at Diefenbaker. “Well? Aren’t you going with him?” Dief yipped softly, followed by an extended series of muted barks and growls. “I’ll be okay, Dief,” Ray nodded, pushing a hand through the fur at Dief’s shoulder. “He needs you. You should go with him.”

Ray pulled the passenger seat forward so Dief could jump out. He did, but he paused on the sidewalk outside the open doorway to yip and make a few muted yowls again before bounding after Fraser, who was already receding quickly in the rearview mirror.

Ray leaned far over the front seat hoping he could grab the passenger door handle from inside to shut it, but he couldn’t reach it. He sighed, straightened back up, got out of the GTO, walked around to the passenger side, and shut the door from outside the car. He stood there, watching Fraser’s fast legs and long strides carry him away as rapidly as possible without actually running, Dief yipping and yapping in circles around him.  
  
Ray got back in the car and gripped the steering wheel for a long time, stifling an overwhelming urge to go after Fraser, so intense that he could feel it crawling up the back of his throat like acid, like recrimination – like _not_ going after Fraser was the wrongest wrong, ever.

But that was the old Ray, the pestering Ray, the Ray who couldn’t shut up, who had to have the last word, who couldn’t let a thing go, like a dog with a bone. And he’d seen this coming in a shadowy way he had pushed to the back of his mind again and again, like if he didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t happen. He’d known this was one of few possible end points to the path he and Fraser had taken… a path they’d only started down because of Fraser’s fiction.

Ray put the GTO in gear and drove home as slowly and carefully as someone upset (no, as someone hoping his – lover – his angry lover – his angry lover on foot, walking it off – hopefully walking back to the same home) should. When he got back to his apartment, the utter silence was deafening. He put the TV on ESPN, left his gun and holster on top of the fridge, took out the entire six-pack of beer he’d had in the fridge for a week, placed it on the coffee table where Fraser’s Stetson should have been, and commenced drinking and channel-surfing until he was halfway through the fifth beer.

He guzzled the rest of it down, set the empty shakily on the coffee table, almost knocking two other empties off the coffee table; they clinked and rolled together on the table, but didn’t roll off. Ray let himself slide sideways to lie flat on the couch. He lowered the volume of the TV, turned his face to the back of the couch, and passed out. A couple hours later, he woke with a jolt because he had to piss so badly. He lay there a moment, listening, but heard nothing. He lurched to his feet and then to the bathroom in the dark, nothing but the ambient light from the kitchen and street lights outside to guide him. He hoped like hell he wasn’t missing the toilet, but didn’t really give a damn if he did.

Ray couldn’t face the emptiness of his bed on a Saturday night – date night – the bed without Fraser in it, so he stumbled back to the couch in his living room, turned off the TV with the remote, and collapsed back down on the couch to pass out again.


	10. Chapter 10

 

_(while drunk, Ray blends Leonard Cohen lyrics with e. e. cummings' style)_

Feel like I’m living in that Leonard Cohen song,  
  
the one that goes “let’s do something crazy,  
  
something absolutely wrong,  
  
while we’re waiting for the miracle,  
  
the miracle to come”.

 

crazy is your normal (your  
  
          wildly bizarre normal)  
  
so you’re being normal and crazy  
  
\-- all at once! -- (it’s like what did you  
  
tell me, what did you tell me  
  
about that Godull guy?)  
  
           that Godull guy – oh! – something about  
  
being true and not true (so then, crazy) (i can do that)  
  
i do crazy with you all the time   
  
\-- but wrong? something’s wrong! --  
  
so there’s the crazy & the wrong & the miracle  
  
waiting  
  
             for  
  
                  the  
  
                       miracle  
  
                                     to  
  
                                        come  
  
you  
  
      make me wait  
  
you  
  
      make me come (in more ways than one)  
  
you  
  
      make it seem like i’m wrong  
  
(but we’ve already got something that’s  
  
                    a miracle  
  
like in some other Leonard Cohen song)


	11. Chapter 11

The beginnings of a headache and the smell of frying eggs and bacon woke Ray. His face was still stuffed into the back of the couch. When he shifted on the couch to look into the breakfast nook, the light from the living room windows hurt his eyes and he groaned. He turned away and faced the back of the couch again, until a cold, wet nose poked him between the waistband of his jeans and the bottom edge of where his T-shirt had ridden up, which made him jump.

“Dief. Trying to sleep. Headache. Quit.”

Ray threw an arm over his head and eyes to shield them from the light, when he heard the solid footfalls of Fraser’s boots on the floor headed towards him.

“I’m told this is a good hangover cure,” Fraser said quietly, setting a plate on the coffee table. For some reason, though, it wasn’t Dief poking his nose at Ray, it was a gigantic, black, wolf-like dog.

“Sunglasses?” Ray pleaded. “I can’t handle the light right now.”

“All right,” Fraser agreed, and went to Ray’s jacket in the hall by the front door. He retrieved them, brought them to Ray, and handed them to him.

Ray put them on. The food smelled delicious and he wasn’t even queasy, but the headache was there, though somewhat subdued with the blessed darkness.

“Need some ibuprofen…”

Ray rolled over on the couch and looked around the living room. It was empty and dark, but it was the darkness of predawn – no Dief, no Fraser, no eggs and bacon, no sunglasses. It had been a peculiarly vivid dream. His stomach growled lightly. But his tolerance for alcohol meant that he actually _didn’t_ have a headache, which was both good and bad. He halfway sat up, wondering what had awakened him, when there was a scratching noise at one of the living room windows.

He sat up and looked. There was Dief, on the fire escape outside. Ray quickly scrubbed a hand over his face, then got up to open the window. Dief ran around the living room making small yips, then ran up to Ray, stood up on his hind legs, and put his paws on Ray’s chest. He yipped and yelped some more, agitated, then hit the floor with all fours again, and ran to the front door, looking over his shoulder at Ray expectantly.

“Fraser in some kind of trouble, Dief?”

Dief woofed vehemently, twice, in response.

Ray shook his head. “I don’t think he wants my help, though. Not with this, anyway.”

Dief trotted back over to Ray in the living room, and stood on his hind legs again, to press his paws on Ray’s chest and look Ray in the face. His yips and yaps were louder and more demanding.

“It’s serious, huh?” Ray said, running his hands through the ruff of fur around Dief’s neck. He sighed. “Well, I don’t think he really wants to see me right now. But if it’s serious, I guess we’re all he’s got, so we better go.”

He went to the kitchen to get his holster and gun, put them on, splashed some water on his face at the kitchen sink, and then wiped it off with the kitchen towel hanging from his refrigerator door handle. He looked at it a moment. It was one Fraser had bought him when he complained about the flowered ones his mother had bought him. It was simple and masculine, a waiter’s towel, plain white with green stripes and the Marshall Field’s logo.

He sighed and let go of it. He grabbed his keys and jacket, opened the door for Dief, and closed and locked it behind them. They took the stairs down; the elevator was too slow.

* * *

Fortunately it was still before dawn and the streets were deserted, so it wasn't hard - in the GTO - to follow a wolf bounding down the street. Dief was no believer in stoplights, a quality Ray admired; he felt the same way when it came to emergencies – especially Fraser emergencies.

He tried not to imagine what horrible fate had befallen Fraser, but it was impossible. Mugged? Though Fraser would probably give anyone who asked some or all of the money in his hat, for the lamest of reasons or lies. So that seemed less likely the more Ray brooded on it. Stray bullet was way more likely. Hit by a drunk driver was also likely on a Saturday night. Chicago drivers were no great respecters of pedestrians even during the day and sober.

Deep under the urban possibilities were reasons Ray pushed away and tried not to think about: that life-and-limb risking, justice-at-all-costs, stick-your-neck-out-for-everyone drive in Fraser. Something that masqueraded as selflessness and altruism but had often smacked of emptiness, suicidal by way of self-sacrifice. Something that had driven Fraser somewhat less lately.

Dief ran and ran until they came to Piotrowski Park, then he ran along the eastern edge of it down the street to the ass-end of the park, where the street dead-ended at the railroad tracks. He stopped there, stood on the sidewalk at the edge of the park, and woofed a couple times urgently. The entire residential street was parked up completely on both sides, so Ray parked illegally at the dead end, hoping no overzealous beat cops came by. He jumped out of the car.

Dief ran off into the darker depths of the park, between the fence that barred the slope up to the train tracks and a partial fence around the back baseball diamond. Ray heard a man’s voice, low, ragged, speaking –

“–whilst full my river flows down to the sea–”

It sounded like Fraser – a sad, exhausted Fraser.

“Fraser?” Ray called out softly, losing Dief in the shadows, trees blocking the park lighting around the baseball field.

He couldn’t run through the grass in the dark without risking tripping or twisting his ankle. There were too many trees and bushes, weeds and small holes. Plus who knew how much broken glass there was, despite city workers’ best efforts; Ray wasn’t actually sure they made their best efforts in little parks in questionable neighborhoods, anyway, but, whatever–

“–O love pangs, let me be–”

“Fraser, I’m coming. Dief! Dief! Dief!” Ray called, panicked because he couldn't see the wolf, nor find his way, and had no idea where he was going. He tried to follow Fraser’s voice, but that didn’t work very well either, because it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere.

Dief appeared in front of Ray again, dappled gray in the darkness. Ray paused and held up his hands. “Slow down, I only got the two legs, ‘kay?”

Dief trotted ahead, pausing to look back over his shoulder. Ray followed around some unruly bushes and a tree. Dief trotted further ahead, tossed his head impatiently as he looked back, and Ray followed again, listening all the while to Fraser. He was reciting a poem.

“–A spider's web blocks all mine avenue–”

“Fraser, keep talking, I’m coming,” Ray called softly.

Fraser didn’t reply but he did keep talking, almost as if Ray weren’t there and hadn’t called out.

“–So fair, few creatures guess it is a trap–”

“I shoulda come after you, I know, I’m sorry,” Ray called, following Dief, who kept looking back over his shoulder towards Ray. Fraser’s voice was louder now. “I was trying to give you space, I thought you needed some space, you said to take you back to the Consulate–”

“My trees are not in flower, I have no bower–”

“So I figured you needed some alone time – and, hey, it’s no one’s fault–”

“–And gusty creaks my tower–”

“Shit just happens sometimes, and if you didn’t see this coming, I did...”

Fraser’s voice was much closer now, and Dief yipped excitedly.

“I should’ve said something, though, I see that now. And I’m sorry I didn’t–” Ray angled around a couple more tree trunks and a bush that seemed to grab at his jacket.

“–And lonesome, very lonesome, is my strand.”

And there was Fraser, sitting on the ground with his back up against a tree trunk, one boot unlaced down to the ankle.

“Hi, Ray,” Fraser said. He sounded very tired.

“Fraser, thank God,” Ray squatted down next to Fraser and ran a hand over Fraser’s face in the semi-darkness. “I didn’t bring a flashlight – what happened? I don’t feel any–” He cut himself off and combed his fingers through Fraser’s hair. Fraser leaned into it and Ray very much wished it was a caress, but he was actually feeling for lumps or the wetness of blood. “What happened?”

“I heard a kitten, Ray. Stuck up in this tree.”

“You heard a kitten,” Ray said, putting his other hand on Fraser’s face, framing Fraser’s cheeks with his hands. His brief now-that-I-know-you’re-okay-I-want-to-kill-you rage was quickly followed by relief so profound he almost began shaking.

“It was crying, up in the tree. I thought I should get it down,” Fraser explained wearily.

Dief’s soft yips ended in a slight growl.

Ray bent awkwardly, squatting in the grass, and kissed Fraser full on the lips. Fraser kissed him back, his throat stifling something that sounded like a half-sob. Ray slid his arms around Fraser, who tried to do the same, but could only brace himself with one booted foot. Ray wasn’t sure who was shaking – maybe both of them – but it quickly stopped.

“Jesus, a kitten,” Ray muttered into Fraser’s neck below his ear. Fraser’s cheek was quite cold against his. “How long you been out here?”

“I would estimate about four hours and fifty seven minutes. I’ve recited–”

“That’s an estimate? Yeah, I heard you – so you fell out of a tree trying to rescue a kitten, huh?” Ray sat back on his haunches, trying to think.

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser admitted. “I’m afraid it was rather far out on a limb.”

“Was there actually a kitten?”

“There _was_ ,” Fraser said reproachfully.

“I suppose it was fine.”

“Well, I didn’t want to drop it, so I held it aloft and my body took the brunt of the–”

Dief yipped.

“Well, what was I supposed to do,” Fraser argued with Dief, “abandon the cause for which I was about to suffer–”

“Fraser, _focus_ : did you hit your head? Lose consciousness?”

“I don’t believe so. But I landed on my left wrist and foot and I think my left ankle is sprained. I can’t bear any weight on it and it’s quite swollen.”

Ray swore under his breath.

“Ray, you smell like a brewery,” Fraser sniffed the air close to Ray’s neck. “Did you drive like that?”

“Fraser, so help me God, now is not the time–”

“The mother cat came and picked up the kitten, at least.”

“Of course she did,” Ray sighed. He stood and then leaned over Fraser. “If I grab you under your armpits, and you grab me, can you put your weight on your other foot to stand up?”

“I think so,” Fraser said.

Ray put his arms around Fraser, under his armpits, and Fraser put his arms around Ray’s shoulders. Ray stood up, and Fraser pushed with his good right foot, and they attempted to pull Fraser to his feet. Foot.

With Fraser’s full – well, not even full – weight on him, Ray heard Fraser hiss out a breath as his injured ankle took some weight. He pushed Fraser back to lean against the tree once they were both fully on their feet.

“Don’t put your weight on that,” he cautioned. “Okay, look, we got a ways to go to get back to my car and I don’t have a flashlight, because it did not occur to me that I would be doing wilderness rescue in the middle of Chicago.”

“This isn’t wilderness.”

“It’s an approximation of wilderness,” Ray reminded Fraser. “That’s why you're here, isn’t it? Because this is a long way from the Consulate. Don’t answer that, just put your arm around my shoulder.”

Fraser sighed and did as he was told.

“Dief,” Ray said, “lead the way.”

They walked, slowly, Fraser hopping on his good ankle and hissing with pain every time he had to put even the slightest weight on his left ankle. Ray tried to move close to trees where Fraser could hold on or brace himself in addition to putting his weight on Ray.

“Well, this is great,” Ray said. “Now you can’t get away.”

“Ray,” Fraser warned through his teeth.

“No, listen, this is a perfect opportunity. And you know I have to take you to the ER, right?”

“Ray–”

“Hey, you think I _want_ to show up smelling like a _brewery_ , with a Mountie and a wolf with me ? Think they won't have something to say about that? You think that’s the preferred scenario here?”

Fraser was silent, breathing hard as they made their way through the trees and bushes back to the GTO. Finally he spoke. “We could take a taxi.”

“Yes, we could – great idea,” Ray said, panting as he held Fraser’s weight. Dief yipped, up ahead of them, leading them out of the park. “Dief agrees, so it’s settled.”

Fraser suppressed a sigh.

“Okay, look. Remember, I told you, you're not alone?”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser gritted out, hopping on his good leg.

“I'm not going to hit the eject button because we hit a bump in the road, okay?”

“Ah.”

“But we're not going to stop there, either. If we break down, get a flat tire, alternator goes out, we don't just stop the journey. We don't bail. At least I don't.”

“We don't?”

“Fraser, I’m a big-picture, long-haul kinda guy,” Ray explained patiently, breathing hard as they stumbled and hopped back to the GTO. “No, we put on the spare, call AAA or whatever, fix things. Maybe toss some of the baggage we don't need, lighten the load. Then get back on the road.”

“Oh,” Fraser mumbled, breathing hard. This seemed never to have occurred to him.

Ray paused. “You get that this is a, a what. Not a simula-, symbo – the m-word, what’s-it–”

“Metaphor?”

“Yeah. Metaphor.”

“Yes,” Fraser said, his opened, unlaced boot flopping around his bad ankle as he hopped.

“Point is, I'm not gonna bail on you, Fraser.”

“All right. Thank you, Ray.”

The GTO was in sight now, though maneuvering through the cars parked nearly bumper to bumper was going to be challenging. It was almost light out now, though, which helped.

“All I ask is, you don't bail on me. You can do this. You've hunted guys down thousands of miles from home. Got justice for your dad.”

They were at the edge of the park now. A few more hops and they were on the sidewalk.

“Yes, but–” Fraser’s voice was weak, tired, weary.

“No ‘yes, but.’ This, you can do,” Ray said firmly. “I'm not saying it'll be easy. But it can't be harder than any of that.”

“This is different, Ray,” Fraser said, stopping. “Wait.” He took his arm from Ray’s shoulder and put his hands in his pockets. He seemed to be catching his breath.

“Yeah, it is different,” Ray continued gently, his arm still around Fraser’s back. “But you've done harder things.”

“I… don’t think I have.” Fraser looked down at the sidewalk.

“You have. All those physically tough things you've done – you had to psych yourself through them, right?

“Yes, but…”

“I said, no ‘yes, but.’ That’s all you have to do with this, too.”

Fraser shook his head at the sidewalk. Dief yipped at them both and Ray glanced over at him, but the wolf seemed – well, to be supporting what Ray was saying.

He stepped in front of Fraser, grabbed Fraser by his shoulders and pressed his forehead to Fraser’s. “Look, Fraser, just this once – just this _once_ – I trust you every single time. Every single time, I got to trust _you_. Just once, you trust _me_ , okay?”

He slid his arms around Fraser and held him tight. Fraser didn’t do the same, he kept his hands in his pockets. It caused a twinge in Ray’s chest. “You're not in this alone,” Ray continued softly. “Yeah, some things you have to _do_ alone, but you're not _in it_ alone.”

Fraser’s shoulders shook in his grip, but his arms cautiously slid around Ray. “There’s a darkness inside me, Ray.” He rested his cheek on Ray’s shoulder and sagged against him.

“You’re the most decent, nicest person I know, Fraser.”

“You – you haven’t met that side of me. That darkness.”

“I think I have. It’s not that dark. Besides,” Ray said quietly, “there’s a darkness inside everybody. Maybe you just need to let yours out every once in a while.”

“Not everybody. Not like this.”

“Look, we all got places inside us we shouldn’t go. Then love makes us go there.” He held Fraser as the pre-dawn brightened around them.

“Why?” Fraser’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Why does it do that?"

“I don’t know, it just does. Maybe ’cause it opens you up. Suddenly everything is possible. But now you got something to lose. A _lot_ to lose. An' everything is only possible if you’re _up_ for it. Then you realize, maybe you’re _not._ ” He stroked the back of Fraser’s head. "Like, you don’t have what it takes. Or you’re afraid. Or you think you don’t really deserve it."

Fraser nodded and shifted in Ray’s arms to swipe a hand under his eye.

Ray sighed. “What it is, is, love makes it seem like you're _finally_ gonna get _everything_ you thought you’d never have an' it's gonna be perfect. But you want it to come _easy_ – no effort. No risk. No misunderstandings, no hurt." Ray squeezed Fraser tighter, his eyes shut tight against the heat he suddenly felt behind them. "The other person knows you; they'll just read your mind; you won't have to say what you want. All this unrealistic crap." Ray took a deep breath. "Then they turn out to be human. You hand them your baggage and they hand you theirs.”

“I’m sorry, Ray,” Fraser’s voice was wet and miserable in Ray’s shoulder. “I did hand you–”

“Stop apologizing.” Ray shook them both a little, still holding Fraser tight, and Fraser’s arms tightened around him, too. “I did too. We’re human, Frase. I’m just trying to streamline it – down to carry-on size. I can’t get rid of it all. I tried with Stella. Sorry if that’s not chivalrous; it’s the truth. Had to figure out what was her and what was me.”

“I’m…” Fraser’s breath hitched. “I’m not a trusting person, Ray. I thought I was. I realized tonight that I am not. I – I shouldn’t have – it was terrible of me to accuse you–” he broke off, swiping his hand under his eye again. He shuddered a moment and Ray held him. When Fraser had composed himself, he continued, his voice wrecked. “People – a person – let me down. Not – a friend, but–” He didn’t continue.

“Yeah, well, not this time,” Ray said gruffly. “But, yeah. People do that sometimes. Like when you see them for who you want them to be, instead of who they really are.”

“Yes,” Fraser whispered into Ray’s shoulder.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’ve seen all of me, warts and all. I’m no good at hiding that stuff, anyway.”

Fraser’s sad chuckle into his shoulder was convulsive. “You do wear your emotions and – if you’ll permit me – your dysfunction on your sleeve, Ray. I’ve, I’ve always appreciated that. There’s no… no hidden agenda.”

“Yeah. Well.”

“I’m not like that. I wish I were like that. How can I be more like that?” Fraser’s questions were plaintive.

“I don’t know,” Ray said. He kept to himself the thought that Fraser actually did wear a lot of his stuff on his sleeve. “Anyway, you’re fine the way you are.”

“I’m n–”

“Shut up,” Ray interrupted, extricating himself from Fraser’s desperate hug and stepping back only enough to grab Fraser’s chin and kiss him hard.“Sun’s coming up,” he said when he stepped back and looked at Fraser. His nose was red, his eyes were red, his lips were red, his face was both blotchy and pale. He looked miserable and hopeful and he was still gorgeous.

“The morning shift docs and nurses should be coming in to ERs now. It’ll be slow, we’ll get in and out quick, and I’ll smell less like a brewery. Come on," Ray said.

He pulled Fraser’s arm around his shoulder again, and they hobbled carefully between closely parked cars to the GTO, which mercifully had no parking ticket yet. Dief danced around them in a circle, yipping excitedly. Ray put Fraser in the back seat and finished unlacing his high brown boot completely. He eased it off Fraser’s foot as Fraser inhaled sharply. Ray gently felt all around the ankle.

“Can you wiggle your toes?” Fraser wiggled them. “I think that’s a good sign, but I’m no doc. Let’s drop the GTO off at home and take a taxi.”

“Ray, I really don’t–”

“Fraser, you at least need X-rays so we know nothing’s broken. And I need to not get tongue-lashed by bitchy ER nurses.”

“Very well,” Fraser pouted.

* * *

A Yellow Cab dropped them off right in front of the ER double doors, which were locked, although – as usual – there were a couple nurses smoking outside, go figure, who knew the code to open the door. Ray waved his badge so they brought the stretcher _to_ Fraser, which Fraser would never have asked for... but for which his eyes silently thanked Ray.

They wheeled him back while Ray took Fraser’s ID and insurance info and gave it to the registrar. He hesitated when it came to signing everything, but when she asked for Fraser’s phone number, he gave his cell phone as Fraser’s home phone, and the Consulate as Fraser’s work phone number. He gave his home address as Fraser’s home address – how would they know? – and then he and the registrar made their way over to Fraser’s ER room. Or slot, since it was a ‘room’ only by virtue of curtains on three sides and a wall on the fourth.

“They give you anything for pain?” Ray asked, glancing at Fraser’s red-rimmed eyes and white, tight-lipped expression.

“No,” Fraser admitted.

Ray stepped out of the curtain into the hall. The ER hadn’t yet reached the usual dull roar of weekend noise, so he yelled “Nurse!”

A hassled-looking mid-fifties matron in green scrubs appeared, reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. “He’s got to go to X-ray first,” she declared impatiently, before Ray could say anything.

Ray stepped three ‘rooms’ down and gestured to her. She approached warily.

“He refused the pain killers, right?” Ray asked.

She looked at him. “Yeah.” Ray showed her his badge. She sighed. “You his partner? I thought he was Canadian.”

“He is, but we’re partnered up; he’s a special liaison with the 27 th. He’s gonna refuse but you have to insist. Tell him he has to get the pain medicine before the X-rays or something.”

She shrugged. “He has the right to refuse,” she pointed out.

“Look, this guy got a bullet in his back and stopped taking his pain meds two weeks into it. He never even takes aspirin when he’s got a headache. He’s one of those, um, uh, whatchacall, people who believe in suffering–”

“Stoics?”

“Yeah, that, except if you don’t knock him down with some pain killers, he’s going to try to walk on that ankle way before he should.”

“Oh,” she replied thoughtfully. “Yeah, but if he gets pain medication and then he’s not feeling pain, he probably _will_ try to walk on it.”

“Not if he’s so dopey and sleepy he can’t,” Ray pointed out.

“Well, he doesn’t really need an IV,” she mused, “but… there’s a couple meds we can give intramuscularly.”

“Well, whatever,” Ray shrugged, “the point is, he won’t let a little thing like a fractured ankle or a cast stop him. If it _is_ fractured.”

“You’re making more work for me,” she grumbled at Ray.

He glared at her.

“All right, all right, let me talk to the doc,” she sighed again.

Fraser had, by this time, signed all the paperwork for registration and gotten his wristband. Dief, though not allowed in the ER itself, was happily repeatedly setting off the motion detector by the door, where a small crowd of unoccupied nurses, patient care techs, and registrars were offering him tidbits of croissants, donuts, and danishes, to Dief’s delight.

Ray sat in the hard plastic chair next to Fraser’s bed. There was no TV, and Fraser stared at the ceiling. “They wanted me to take off all my clothes,” he remarked stiffly. “To put on a hospital gown.”

“That’s usually how it works, Frase,” Ray replied.

“Well, it’s only my ankle.”

“And maybe your wrist.”

“Ray–”

“Fraser, just take off your damn clothes so you can go to X-ray.”

Fraser stared up at the ceiling. Finally he sat up, but he lowered only his uninjured leg to the floor. “I’m not removing my underwear,” he fretted.

“You don’t have to,” Ray sighed.

“If I put my foot down, it hurts. A lot,” Fraser admitted quietly.

“Yeah, ’cause then it’s hanging down, gravity, throbbing. I’ll help,” Ray said, standing up.

Fraser didn’t want help with anything, of course. He took off all of his clothes from the waist up himself, while Ray tried to figure out the snaps on the gown.

“I give up, Frase,” Ray said, frustrated. “No idea how this goes together.”

“Oh,” Fraser said. He took the gown, held it out, and examined it. Of course, he had it snapped together in seconds. Ray suppressed a sigh as he unlaced Fraser’s boot on his uninjured foot. He pulled it off, since Fraser couldn’t toe it off with his injured foot.

“I’m keeping my socks on,” Fraser said, as if it was Ray trying to get him out of his clothes.

“Let’s just – the metal in the zipper, the rivets–” Ray gestured at Fraser’s jeans.

The nurse yanked the curtain back just as Fraser was unsnapping and unzipping. Fraser turned bright pink.

“You’re not undressed yet?” she said, irritated.

“It took some convincing,” Ray explained. “Give us a minute?”

“I haven’t got all day; there are other patients,” she griped.

Fraser had the decency to look guilty even as he blushed further. The nurse yanked the curtain shut again, but her shoes remained visible beneath the curtain, one toe tapping impatiently.

“C’mon,” Ray said hurriedly, lamenting inwardly that this first disrobing of Fraser wasn’t even fun.

Fraser quickly figured out that he was going to have to lie flat on the bed and boost his hips up with his good foot while Ray skimmed the pants off his bad leg.

“Ray,” Fraser gritted as Ray did so.

“That’s what you get for wearing these thigh-hugging jeans,” Ray whispered, smiling when Fraser blushed even redder.

Fraser let his ass hit the bed with a thump and quickly drew the hospital gown on as Ray carefully drew the pants off his swollen ankle and yelled, “He’s decent.”

She yanked the curtain open, walked over to Fraser, pushed up his gown sleeve, and said, “This is morphine,” as she swabbed Fraser’s shoulder with an alcohol wipe. She opened a Baid-Aid and stuck only one side of the adhesive to Fraser’s shoulder so it half-hung off.

“I don’t really–”

“You need to lie still for the exam and the X-rays,” she interrupted, irritated, eyeing Ray, just before she plunged the needle into his deltoid muscle and depressed the plunger. Fraser winced. She slapped the other side of the Band-Aid adhesive on his shoulder so it covered the injection site, applied firm pressure for a second, then briskly rubbed his shoulder briefly. Seconds later she deposited the needle in the sharps container on the wall.

“The tech will be here shortly to take you to X-ray,” she said and then left, yanking the curtain shut behind her.

Fraser blinked at Ray. “It burns, Ray,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Now it feels cold, Ray,” Fraser said. His eyes were a little glassy.

“Yeah, Frase,” Ray agreed.

"The coldness is moving, Ray..."

The curtain was yanked open by a mid-thirties but already bald guy in scrubs. “Time for X-rays,” he said.

“Did I see the doctor?” Fraser asked drowsily.

“Yeah. The doctor ordered the X-rays,” the tech said. “The lady with the dark hair.” He kicked some part that was under the bed and with a loud thunk the bed jerked.

“The lady with the dark hair,” Fraser mused. “With the clipboard?”

“No, that was the registrar. She had reddish-brown hair,” Ray said. “The doctor saw you while I was giving your info to the registration gal.”

The tech put the side rails up and began depressing a pedal, raising the bed jerkily with each press.

“The lady with the dark hair…” Fraser trailed off and looked at Ray. “I seem to have something of a blind spot for women with dark hair,” he said, a cross between troubled and wonderment.

“That’s… understandable,” Ray said gently.

“Okay, buddy, we’re going to Radiology,” the ER tech said, thunking another pedal under Fraser’s bed.

“Oh,” Fraser said wonderingly. “Ray, did you know the dose of radiation in an average X-ray is–”

“Fraser, don’t worry about that, okay? I’ll be here when you get back.”

Ray sat back in the hard plastic chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes.

* * *

In the end, it was a sprained ankle and a hairline fracture of the hamate bone in Fraser’s left wrist. Fortunately he did not need a cast on either, though he was under strict orders to use crutches for the next three to five days, along with Rest, Ice, Compression with an Ace bandage, and Elevation on pillows.

The lady with the dark hair, the doctor, came back to tell them that after she gave Fraser the X-ray results. Her hair was thick and black, pulled back into a loose ponytail. Wavy tendrils of black hair framed her face; her pale skin, emerald eyes, and red lips were like something out of a fairy tale, though witch or heroine was anyone’s guess. Anyone could see she was gorgeous, including Ray. Fraser seemed disturbingly mesmerized by her.

She also told Fraser to begin weight bearing after the three to five days “as tolerated,” while Ray gesticulated wildly behind Fraser. He waved his arms wildly and made a throat-slicing motion at his neck, because “as tolerated” for Fraser meant “if you’re not gushing blood or turning blue.” She flicked her eyes at Ray several times while speaking to Fraser, who never took his eyes off her and sat at attention in his bed while she spoke. Finally she said to Fraser, “Will you excuse me a moment?”

She cocked her head at the curtain and the hallway outside while looking significantly at Ray, so Ray stood up and told Fraser, “Gotta hit the can, Frase, be right back.”

Ray backed down the hall towards the nursing station, beckoning the doctor, who followed him warily.

“What was all that about?” she demanded.

“You can’t tell him ‘as tolerated’ – for normal people, that’s a useful instruction. For him, that is way too vague. He’ll walk on it through the pain. I told your nurse, this is a guy who got a bullet in the back and stopped taking his pain meds two weeks later. He would’ve left the hospital at that point if he could have walked.”

Ray didn’t know this first-hand, but he’d been told in some detail by Francesca, to whom Vecchio had unburdened himself in terrible guilt.

“Oh, I see,” the doctor said. “Hmm.”

“You’re going to have to be really specific. Like, ‘no walking for five days’ or however many days you think, or ‘no walking without crutches for x days’ and ‘no weight bearing for x days’.”

“Well, usually we let the patients’ condition determine that,” she mused. “How they feel. Their pain level.”

Ray shoved a hand through his spikes. “Then you’ll have to be real specific about that. ‘No weight bearing until bearing weight is painless’ or something.”

“This will be… rather difficult. The discharge instructions are all standardized.”

“Yeah, for standard patients,” Ray argued. “He’s not standard.”

She looked at Ray a little too closely, and he felt the heat hit his cheeks. “Does he live alone?”

“Except for his w- dog, yeah,” Ray mumbled. “It’s just – I know him really well. He’s my partner.” He jiggled his badge on his belt so she wouldn’t think something different, and then hated himself for a minute for it.

“Well,” she paused, “maybe he should stay with you. If he’s just going to push himself too far too fast.”

“Yeah,” Ray sighed. “Maybe.”

She squeezed Ray’s shoulder. “I’ll tell him that, and I’ll try to be very specific in the instructions. Give me a moment.”

* * *

In the end, Fraser’s printed discharge instructions had a lot of lines crossed off, with hand-printed instructions next to them or over them.

“You better call in sick. Monday is sentry duty for you, isn’t it?” Ray said in the taxi back to his house.

He yawned. It was ten o’clock in the morning, he figured he’d gotten about four and a half hours of sleep the night before his adventures finding Fraser in Piotrowski Park, and he was ready to collapse in bed.

“I… yes,” Fraser said dreamily. “My God, Ray, that would hurt. That would hurt a lot. Standing on this foot for the entire shift, with no morphine.”

“Yeah, see, that’s why you got a prescription for painkillers. Which you are going to take, right?”

“Right,” Fraser said. “No, the doctor said I could take Advil. Can you get me Advil, Ray? I would like some Advil.” He seemed to have temporarily devolved to a childhood version of Fraser, at least in terms of language.

“Sure. I will get you Advil,” Ray bargained, raising his index finger, “if you also take the painkillers they prescribed.”

Fraser pouted, but Ray stubbornly jutted out his lower lip. Finally Fraser nodded slowly.

“All right,” he caved. Ray liked this morphine-sedated Fraser, even if he was a bit repetitive. “I will take the prescribed painkillers so I can get the Advil. The doctor said it is a very good anti-inflammatory. And I will need ice. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation. R-I-C-E. But I knew that. I knew that, from Depot.”

“I know you knew that,” Ray said patiently as the taxi pulled up in front of his apartment building. “You already told me.” About ten times.

“Oh. Oh, I forgot,” Fraser said seriously. His pupils were constricted quite small. “I’m sorry, Ray.”

“It’s okay.” Ray patted his arm. Dief yipped.

The taxi driver looked at them in the rearview mirror. “Extra charge for dog. I got to clean hair off back seat.”

“You got duct tape covering the rips in the vinyl,” Ray argued. “Cleaning hair off is easy over vinyl and duct tape.”

The taxi driver scowled, but Fraser generously insisted on a thirty percent tip, above and beyond the dog surcharge. Ray didn’t argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Piotrowski Park after spraining his ankle, Fraser recites excerpts from ‘Autumn’ by Christina G. Rossetti. That is available to read online at the Project Gutenberg EBook of [‘Poems’](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19188/19188-h/19188-h.htm) by Christina G. Rossetti at <http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19188/19188-h/19188-h.htm>.


	12. Chapter 12

Fraser was asleep in Ray’s bed when Ray got back from the drugstore with Fraser’s prescription, his precious Advil – actually, his generic equivalent – a couple more Ace bandages, and a large bag of ice. Ray stood at the foot of his bed, watching Fraser sleep. Dief lifted his head from where he lay near Fraser's feet, looked up at Ray searchingly, and then lay his head back down between his paws. Ray headed for the kitchen, realizing he needed to clean out all his freezer-burned vegetables to fit the bag of ice in the freezer.

He put the radio on a classic rock station, humming along, when he heard the thunk of crutches along the hall from his bedroom. Fraser soon appeared, his hair tousled, his face a grim mask of pain.

“Hey, what’re you – sit down here, and put that foot up,” Ray objected.

Fraser walked over awkwardly on the crutches, but gratefully let Ray pick his leg up by the calf and rest his foot on the kitchen chair next to the one in which he sat.

“I guess the morphine wore off,” Fraser said, his voice gravelly.

“I got your Advil and the prescription right here,” Ray said, taking the bottles out of the bag. He got a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with cold water after letting the tap run for a minute.

Fraser took the glass and eyed the bottles on the table.

“One of each,” Ray said firmly.

Fraser frowned, but Ray pointed at the printed discharge instructions on the kitchen table, and leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. Fraser sighed long-sufferingly and stoically took one pill from each and swallowed them with a sip of the water. Then he drank the rest of the water.

“I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was,” he admitted.

“Hungry? I got some ham, tomato, lettuce. I could make us sandwiches, or we could order.”

“No, I… I’m not hungry. I’d like to…” Fraser trailed off, his eyes going distant.

Ray waited, but when Fraser didn’t continue, he uncrossed his arms, and turned to get a plastic zip-lock sandwich bag from a kitchen drawer. He filled it with ice from the giant bag of ice he’d picked up, which would help the giant bag of ice fit in his freezer.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Fraser, which seemed to startle Fraser out of his reverie. “Put that on your ankle.” Ray paused. “Or your wrist? I mean, whichever hurts more, I guess.”

Fraser didn’t answer, but he bent stiffly at the waist to drape the ice bag across his ankle. It wasn’t properly balanced, though, so it slid off onto the floor. Fraser exhaled forcefully with impatience. Ray picked the ice bag up from the floor, placing it gingerly over Fraser’s ankle, and slowly arranging the ice cubes inside so they were evenly distributed on either side of the ankle, less likely to overbalance on one side and slide off.

“Thank you,” Fraser said gratefully, but he wouldn’t look at Ray.

“If you want, we can watch TV. If you lay down on the couch, you can put your foot up on the back of the couch, really elevate it.”

Ray went back to examining stuff from the freezer, and tossing it in the garbage.

“Oh, no, no, that won’t be, that isn’t…” Fraser trailed off again. Ray looked at him over his shoulder. “That would be very nice,” Fraser admitted, glancing at Ray, and then ducking his head.

* * *

“You’ve never seen _The Great Escape_?” Ray was incredulous.

“Well, I’ve seen parts of it,” Fraser admitted, tucked into a corner of the couch, his injured, Ace-wrapped ankle elevated on the back of the sofa, his other leg stretched out straight. Ray tried not to look at the way this spread-legged posture accentuated Fraser’s package. “My understanding,” Fraser continued, “is that it’s not particularly historically accurate–”

“Accurate, shmaccurate, it’s a classic,” Ray objected, pawing through his collection of videotapes. “God, where is it? I know I had it… I’ve seen it, like, twenty times…”

“Then the suspense would surely be ruined for you,” Fraser pointed out.

Ray pulled the front row of videos off the shelf, now wondering irritatedly where his copy of the film was. “It’s a classic, I could see it twenty more times and see something new in it each time… This is weird, I know I had it,” he muttered, not finding it in the videos behind the first row of videos.

There had been a collection of videos he and Stella had watched together multiple times, their ‘go-to’ videos, that he’d stopped watching when they split up and he moved into his own place. He’d packed them up, he knew he had... but where had he put them? He pawed through all the videos he had, looking for _The Thomas Crown Affair_ – which they were remaking, God forbid – and _Bullitt_. Those, along with _The Great Escape_ , weren’t there either.

“I guess… I guess I don’t have it, I must’ve… when I moved out from… from Stella…” Ray said, trying in vain to find any of his favorite Steve McQueen films, a pile of videocassettes that didn’t include _any_ of those at his knees.

“Well,” Fraser said mildly, “that’s all right, we can watch any of your other videos.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ray said, disappointed. What had he done with that box of his and Stella’s go-to videos? Had he saved them? Had he mistakenly taken them to Goodwill? Did _she_ have them?

“What else have you got?” Fraser asked.

“Um.” Ray hesitated. “I – _Doctor Zhivago_ , _Casablanca_ , _Timecop_ – wait a minute… half of these aren’t even mine… I didn’t buy _Zhivago_ …” He trailed off, putting a hand over his mouth. “We must’ve gotten our boxes mixed up; I never liked Van Damme…”

“Van Damme…?” Fraser inquired.

“Jean-Claude,” Ray said absently. He looked up at Fraser, embarrassed that his old relationship was making such a blatant appearance in the present. “I’m sorry, I thought – I thought I had my, my – I guess I haven’t watched ‘em in years, so I didn’t realize ‘til just now…”

“Have you seen _Timecop_?” Fraser asked. “What is it about? It’s an intriguing title.”

“You are so high on pain-killers, it isn’t even funny,” Ray replied. “What do you think it’s about?”

“A cop who goes back in time,” Fraser said, a suppressed giggle in his voice.

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” Ray sighed. He picked up all the videos and began shoving them back on the shelf. “Sure, we can watch _Timecop_. No, I never saw the whole thing. It’ll be new to me, mostly.”

“All right,” Fraser said agreeably. He held the giant bowl of microwave popcorn in his lap.

Ray put the movie in the player and pressed play, and had the rest of the videos back on the shelf by the time the FBI warning and the preview for a different movie were both over. He sat at the opposite side of the couch, by Fraser’s good foot. Soon Fraser had put his good foot on Ray’s lap. He didn’t look at Ray, but he slouched down a little, somehow managing to keep his bad foot elevated on the back of the couch behind Ray’s head while his good ankle and then his good calf lay across Ray’s thigh. The warm denim of both their jeans created a pleasant friction every time Ray leaned over to grab a handful of popcorn. Ray slipped Dief, under the coffee table, the occasional piece of buttered popcorn.

Somehow, by the climax of the movie, Ray was nestled between Fraser’s warm thighs. One was behind him where Fraser’s calf was up on the back of the couch in something like a yoga pose; the other was across Ray’s lap and curled around him. The popcorn bowl was forgotten on the coffee table. By the end of the movie, Fraser was misty-eyed and clinging to Ray, his arms wrapped around Ray. Ray leaned against his chest, very aware he was between Fraser’s legs.

“I didn’t expect it to be so emotional,” Fraser murmured.

“Yeah… like you,” Ray murmured. “I, uh, yeah, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“That was so touching,” Fraser said mournfully, his arms tight around Ray.

“I guess it kind of was,” Ray said, stroking Fraser’s arm, soothing him. “But it had a happy ending.”

“Hmm,” Fraser agreed, but he didn’t sound happy.

“What’s the matter?” Ray said, fingering the seam of Fraser’s jean-covered thigh in front of him.

“I think I understand why people watch so much television, now,” Fraser said softly.

“Oh, yeah? Why?” Ray asked cautiously.

“Well, to be transported, but… to, to, stop thinking.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Ray agreed. “Nothing like TV to make you stop thinking.”

Fraser was silent a moment. “And to see the protagonists get the second chances they never will.”

Ray hesitated. “Second chances?”

Fraser loosened his grip on Ray, then. “Yes,” he said, his voice firmer.

Ray took the body language and tone of voice for what it was, and slowly extricated himself from Fraser’s legs.

“Want your crutches for the bathroom? You had a lot of bark tea.”

“Well, the popcorn was salty,” Fraser pointed out.

“It’s supposed to be salty.”

Ray picked up Fraser’s crutches from the floor, feeling suddenly strangely out of sorts. They were back to the so-close-yet-so-far, except now he didn’t have the privacy to jerk off with Fraser staying with him temporarily. He suppressed a sigh. He handed Fraser his crutches, knowing by now Fraser wouldn’t accept any help getting up from the relatively low couch. He picked up the popcorn bowl and set it down in front of Dief, who woofed low as he scrambled out from under the coffee table to chow down the last of the popcorn.

“Ray, you shouldn’t,” Fraser admonished.

“There’s hardly any left. It’s not like it’ll make him sick.” Ray walked into the kitchen and didn’t watch Fraser crutch-walking. Sometimes the painful grimace on Fraser’s face made him want to punch Fraser, just to have an excuse to give him the pain killers he was starting to refuse now.

“No, but it will make him thirsty, and then he’ll drink a lot of water, and then he’ll need a lot of walking…”

“That’s okay,” Ray said. “I’ll walk him. I don’t mind.”

Sure enough, minutes later, Dief was slurping down a ton of water and spilling it on the kitchen floor. Ray wiped it up, and Fraser eyed him from the kitchen table, his foot up on a chair, ice bag in place, having one more cup of bark tea.

“Take the painkiller and the Advil, Frase,” Ray suggested. “At least so you sleep well. You know a good night’s sleep is the best thing for healing.”

Fraser inhaled as if he were about to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. “All right,” he said, rather meekly.

Ray got him a glass of water and his med bottles. Fraser took out one pill of each and drank them down. Dief looked expectantly up at Ray, his tail wagging.

Ray scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded. “Okay, wolf, out it is.”

He grabbed his keys, but as he passed the kitchen table, Fraser grabbed his wrist. He looked down at Fraser. Fraser’s eyes seemed very large and surprisingly dark.

“Thank you, Ray, for taking care of me and Diefenbaker. It can’t be easy.” He pressed the back of Ray’s hand to his cheek and closed his eyes, then released Ray’s wrist.

“You’re not the easiest patient, no,” Ray agreed, stroking his knuckles against Fraser’s cheek. He leaned down and pressed their lips together gently. “But Dief can’t do it alone,” he smiled and straightened up, trying to make himself appear happy when he felt "off" somehow.

“No, I suppose he has his limits, too.” Fraser looked up, his eyes searching Ray’s face.

“He’s only lupine,” Ray said, headed for the front door and the hook with his jacket, relieved that escape was at hand and unsure why he felt he needed it.

* * *

When he returned, Ray wished they had TV goggles you could watch while you walked. Because all he’d done while out with Dief was think. All it had done was rile him up more. He should’ve jogged, gone to the gym and hit the bag – because what was simmering inside he surely shouldn’t have brought back home.

Dief yipped at him questioningly.

“Shhh, maybe he’s asleep,” Ray said, locking the door behind him.

“Ray?” Fraser called, and Ray glanced down the little hall to his bedroom to see the lamp was on. Fraser was probably reading.

“Yeah, we’re back,” Ray said, hanging his jacket up. “Ease up on the water, wolf,” he admonished Dief.

Ray couldn’t bring himself to go into the bedroom. He didn’t know what the fuck his problem was. He went to the bathroom, even though he really didn’t have to pee. Might as well get ready for bed, brush his teeth, all that. He pissed, brushed his teeth, gargled, stripped down to his boxer briefs, and then sighed.

Fraser was sitting up in bed, reading. He’d read every copy of Ring World that Ray had, plus every book, magazine, and old newspaper Ray had had, in the first few days he’d been at Ray’s. Ray had started bringing home the daily paper plus a magazine or two, which Fraser devoured. There was a library of hand-me-down books for the holding cells that absolutely no one used. So every day, Ray grabbed a book from that, and every day he brought one back – and still, Fraser was restless and needed more reading material.

Plus he was full of reviews. _This novel was preposterous, Ray,_ and _The machinations of this plot were utterly predictable_ , and _Plot holes you could drive a truck through, Ray_ , and suddenly Ray couldn’t stand it anymore.

Fraser looked up at him, a slight smile dawning on his face.

“Did you think we could just pretend it didn’t happen?” Ray’s mouth said of its own volition, with absolutely no plan or connection to Ray’s current thoughts. “That whole difference between _I can’t_ and _I won’t_?”

Fraser didn’t move but his dawning smile vanished. Fear flashed across his face before it went utterly blank. He put the book he was reading face down on the night stand and stared down at the sheets a moment before looking back up at Ray like he was facing an executioner.

“When did you know?” he asked quietly.

“The first guy who blew me,” Ray said bluntly. “That’s when I first suspected. I thought I felt you hard behind me, but – I came pretty fast.” His voice began to tremble. “Then you threw me up against the wall and kissed the hell out of me. I figured I was just feeling what I wanted to feel.”

“I’m sorry,” Fraser murmured impassively, his dark eyes like holes in his head. But to his credit, he didn’t look away.

“And, you know, it just went on from there. And on. An’ I thought, if this is the only way we can be together, okay. Then, okay. I’m – okay with it. There were little things I would’ve changed. Brought 'em back to my house with you, not done 'em a bar bathroom. So we could take our clothes off. So I could see you, touch you, your skin…”

Fraser gulped.

“But that would’ve given it away, wouldn’t it?” Ray said bitterly. He took a step closer to the bed. Though there was nowhere for Fraser to go, he seemed to shrink further from Ray. “But I really knew when that guy fucked me up the ass. I was pressed up against you, banging into you while he banged me. I _felt_ you, Fraser.” His voice shook and his eyes felt hot and his fists clenched beside his thighs. “You were hard,” Ray growled.

“You were hard every single time, weren’t you? Every single time you had me jerking or sucking some other guy, or getting jerked off, or sucked, even fucked by some other guy – that could have been _you_ with me. You let me think – while I had sex with guy after guy after guy, while you _watched_ , while you decided _who_ , while you decided _what_ we could do – that a bullet in your back made you impotent. That using your hands or your mouth would be some brutal psychological tease for you, rubbing in your face what your cock couldn’t do anymore.”

Fraser just looked at him, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Didn’t you!” Ray demanded angrily.

“Yes,” Fraser gritted out softly.

“Do you have any idea how that felt for me? To find out you _could_ get hard, your dick _did_ work, and to know that the whole time, every single thing I did with every single guy – and it was a different guy every time, remember? Because you didn’t want me or them to get emotionally attached – I could’ve just been _with you_? Thinking you didn’t _want_ me?”

“I never didn’t want you,” Fraser said softly.

“Yeah, I kept telling myself that,” Ray laughed mirthlessly. “I kept telling myself it was you, _your_ issues, _your_ problems. But there was that little voice in the back of my head – the same voice that always whispered Stella was too good for me an’ I’d never keep her. It was back, ‘cept now it whispered I would _never_ be good enough for _you_ , either. There I was, good enough for you to _watch_ with other guys, but _not_ good enough for you to touch yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Ray, I’m so sorry, you can’t imagine how much I regret–”

“Then you had the nerve, the _nerve_ – after basically pimping me out to all these guys, telling me you wanted to watch my pleasure, watch me come – with them – after setting these ridiculous ground rules I was crazy enough to agree to because I _am_ crazy for you – _you had the fucking nerve_ to accuse me of _offering_ myself to them behind your back, to accuse me of _pursuing_ them outside the parameters you set? How could you do it? How could you do that to me? When all I really ever wanted _was you_? When I only did all of _them_ for _you,_ to be with you?”

Ray’s head was beginning to pound. He put the heels of his hands to his eyes, wanting so badly to punch something or someone or maybe himself, his breathing ragged now.

“You must really hate me for what I did.” Fraser’s voice trembled.

Ray clenched his hands into fists and pressed them to his temples, his eyes squeezed shut tight, head pounding. “I don’t hate you – I fucking _love you_ , Fraser! That’s why I went along with it way past when I knew. Even with that stupid voice in the back of my head whispering that I wasn’t good enough and everything we were doing must be the proof, I kept telling myself, _he’s got his reasons, there must be a reason, he’s had so few, he’s particular, he’s choosy, and I get to be one – maybe this is how I pass the test_ –”

“Oh, God, it wasn’t a test,” Fraser’s voice broke, “never that, Ray, I would never have – I was _protecting_ you, Ray, from, from, w-what always happens with me.” Fraser’s voice was wet, wrecked, trembling. “I hurt people, I ruin their lives, I told you I would inevitably hurt you, I told you you should run away–”

Ray’s fists slammed down to his thighs again. “Fraser, just how many lives have you ruined, hmm? Just tell me that. I need a number. You don’t have to tell me who, or when, or how – chivalry, all that,” he snarled bitterly. “I just need a number of how many lives you’ve ruined for you to think that this ‘always,’ ‘inevitably’ happens.” He glared at Fraser.

Fraser pressed his thumb and knuckle to his brow. “You don’t understand.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t.” Ray ground his teeth. “So now you need to make me. Because none of this makes sense. Don’t get me wrong, ‘we’ had a lot of sex, I came a lot, I jizzed all over the place. You watched, you told me how gorgeous I was coming. All that was kinky and hot and it was great. But it was with those dudes I came and jizzed, not alone with you. And I need to know why, why it had to be that way. Why you needed all these guys to be with me even though the whole time it could have been just me and you.”

Fraser kept his face averted. Ray turned and paced away, and then paced back. That was good, pacing. He did it again. He would do it as long as it took Fraser to cough it up, cough up the real reason.

Fraser’s voice was unsteady. “It’s not the quantity that matters, Ray. Perhaps you’re acquainted with the Fujitsu rating scale of tornado destructiveness.”

Ray turned on his heel, about to bark something about irrelevance and tangents. But the sight of Fraser, hunched over, his thumb and knuckle pressed between his eyebrows, eyes shut, made him stop.

“If it’s not quantitative,” Ray said, low, “it must be qualitative.”

Fraser quickly swiped under his eyes with a thumb. “The circle of destruction was – large. It didn’t just encompass me. It affected – friends. The family of friends. Personal and professional reputations were permanently sullied which should have been spotless, blameless. Suspicions were created which should never have been. Because of my foolishness. Because of my _relationship_. My lover.”

If Ray had sounded bitter before, he’d had nothing on the caustic gall in Fraser’s voice now, as if he were dredging pure acid up from his heart.

“She was – perhaps if you described the demise of your marriage, Ray, it would be an F1 or an F2 tornado, in destructiveness. She was an F5, Ray. Maybe like two or three F5s.” Fraser inhaled sharply and exhaled raggedly and looked up at Ray for the first time in several minutes, the grief and anguish on his face painful to see. “But, but I _wanted_ to be swept up in her,” he admitted, anger and self-loathing palpable in his voice. “I _let_ myself be swept up in her. I was willing to throw _everything_ away for her – I was going to _go with_ her, even after everything, Ray, because – because – and that was, that was – so, so _wrong_ …”

Ray stepped closer to the bed and Fraser tilted his chin up, despite his wet eyes. Ray could see the stupid, stubborn determination there. “I never thought I would feel that way again.” Fraser’s fists clenched on his thighs. “I did everything I could to avoid it. And I didn’t. For a long – a very long time.

“But then – then, you. Oh, _you_ , Ray. You came into my life. For a while, I thought it was merely one-sided. That there was no chance. A-and that was, that was sad. But safe – oh, it was _safe_ , Ray. Because I knew how bad I am at this. I'm not unaware – did you think that I was unaware of it? Because I’m _not_!”

“I know,” Ray murmured, the wind taken out of his sails. He sat down at the far corner of the bed.

  
Fraser leaned over, his face in his hands. “And then you asked me to go out with you, on a real date – oh, it was the happiest moment, Ray, the _happiest_ – and the worst, Ray, you can’t, you can’t imagine… how terrible is that, that they would be twisted together that way, the happiest and the worst? I know that’s terrible but that’s me. You might as well know it now…” Fraser covered his face with his hands, muffling his voice.

“So I thought – I thought if I, if I didn’t, if _we_ didn’t, then I wouldn’t – and this wouldn’t… but now I see I didn’t think it through, I didn’t –” Fraser babbled into his hands, sliding them up his face, into his hair, pulling it. “It’s, it’s one of those frying pan/fire scenarios, isn’t it? One of those ‘cure is worse than the disease’ situations, now…”

“Fraser,” Ray said, crawling across the bedclothes to him. “Fraser, wait.”

He grabbed Fraser’s wrist. Fraser yanked it back, startled, and Ray remembered just how physically strong Fraser really was. Ray put his hands up in the universal sign of ‘I come in peace.’  
  
“That’s – that’s all I wanted. An explanation. Okay?” Fraser’s arm came slowly back down. Ray’s hand closed on his wrist, slid up his forearm, back and forth, soothing. “I just needed that. To know why. Now I do.”

“Ray.” Fraser’s eyes were glassy. “I’m – sorry. The common denominator is me, of course.” His smile was strained and sad. “You should have run when I told you to.”

“Stop being melodramatic,” Ray ordered him. “You’re not the only guy who lost his head and let love ruin his life.”

Fraser jerked his wrist out of Ray’s grasp again, his brows coming together in a frown. “How about, the only guy who caused his own wolf companion to be shot with _his_ gun, who knowingly shielded a bank-robber and murderess because he loved her, resulting in himself and his friend being implicated in crimes, he himself being arrested and charged with _murder_ , his friend being permanently on IA’s scrutiny list – not to mention mortgaging his paid-for family home to raise bail for this foolish guy, whom this friend generously describes later as ‘blind-sided’ – who was going to _leave_ with this F5 destructive tornado of a lover _anyway_ , even after all that, causing himself to get shot in the back by said friend,” Fraser said distantly. “Because he lost his head and let love ruin his life,” he finished sarcastically.

He and Ray stared at each other.

“Okay,” Ray scratched his chin. “You might have cornered the market on that one.”

Fraser looked away. Ray settled cautiously next to him in bed, and they both sat against the headboard of Ray’s bed not looking at each other. They were silent for what seemed like a long time. Then Ray sighed.

“You’re not wearing your union suit I brought from the Consulate,” he commented. It was a lame change of subject, but he’d take it.

“It’s – rather warm in your apartment. If I wear it, I’m overly warm.”

“Yeah? So all I have to do to see all that skin is keep the thermostat turned up?”

Fraser’s chest heaved in something that wasn’t quite a chuckle. Ray cautiously put an arm over Fraser’s shoulders and Fraser threw his around Ray, clutching him tight.

“Hey, I – don’t feel like you forced me into anything. You didn’t. No one held a gun to my head. I’m a grown man. I could’ve said No any time. I didn't. Okay? That’s not all on you. We can share it, fifty-fifty,” Ray said gruffly.

“Okay,” Fraser said, muffled into Ray’s collarbone. “I – okay. Thank you, Ray.”

“Maybe we should get the ball rolling between you and me, huh?”

“Oh,” Fraser said, sounding nervous, extricating himself from Ray’s embrace. “I – don’t – we don’t… well, we could try that.” He sat back against the headboard of the bed beside Ray, their shoulders touching. He stared down into his lap, not meeting Ray’s eyes.

“We’re going to have to start slow at first,” Ray said carefully.

“Of course,” Fraser nodded, his hands twitching in his lap.

“How about, you jack off, and I’ll jack off, and we watch each other,” Ray suggested quietly.

Fraser’s head snapped up. “Really?”

“Sure, uh… what do you think?”

“That…” Fraser blushed deeply, but his eyes focused on Ray’s mouth. “That would be very erotic, I think.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Ray murmured, hesitating. “We could do that now, if you want,” he offered tentatively. “Or – we could wait.”

“Now?” Fraser said, a note of longing and hope in his voice.

“If you want…” Ray repeated cautiously.

Fraser nodded.

“Hang on, let me–” Ray slid out of bed and came back with two old, clean T-shirts. “I knew I saved these for something.”

“Saved what?” Fraser asked.

“My mom always used to save my hole-y T-shirts, to use as dust-rags or for cleaning. But, uh,” Ray ducked his head. “They come in handy for come-clean-up, too.”

“Right,” Fraser said, adding, “very practical,” and somehow, his blushing, stammering was all gone and he was strangely all business.

Ray climbed back in bed and sat close to but not right next to Fraser. He handed Fraser one of his soft, worn T-shirts, gray with too many washings. They looked at each other, and Ray figured he’d get them started. He peeled down his underwear and kicked them off. He was already half hard.

Fraser did the same, except he covered his cock somewhat shyly with his hand. He didn’t kick his underwear off, his ankle still being wrapped in an Ace bandage. Ray sat up on his haunches to reach down to pull Fraser’s boxers off, but he couldn’t get them all the way off. So he leaned forward on hands and knees to drag them off Fraser’s bad ankle, his cock hanging heavy and hardening further as he did so. He felt a warm, firm hand slide over his hip and buttock and the back of his thigh. Well, Fraser wasn’t wasting any time. Ray left Fraser’s boxers at his feet and sat back at the head of the bed. He opened the drawer of the nightstand on his side.

“Lube?” he offered.

Fraser lifted an eyebrow, as if this thought had not occurred to him. “I, uh…” He paused, moving his hand aside uncertainly. Ray remembered that Fraser was uncircumcised because, yeah, there it was, hardening, but the head still mostly covered by the foreskin. “I don’t need it, perhaps because of...” Fraser grabbed his cock and stroked down once, tight, exposing the head, which was shiny with pre-ejaculate. When he let go, it slipped back to partially cover the tip of his cock again.

“Huh,” Ray said, fascinated. “Never thought of that. I, um, okay,” he said, forcing himself to look away and in the drawer for the Glide lube he had. A little went a long way but, man, he just slicked it on slapdash because he could not wait to get his eyes back on Fraser’s cock. “Ready?” he asked Fraser, a little nervously.

“All right,” Fraser agreed.

They locked eyes, and then looked at each other’s cocks. Ray started jerking himself off, but he only had eyes for Fraser’s self-pleasure, watching the expert way Fraser manipulated himself and the fascinating movement of the loose skin of his foreskin. Ray jacked his own cock, steadily faster and tighter. He wondered what Fraser’s cock would be like in his mouth, how he would suck it, how that would feel to Fraser, was he supposed to take the whole thing in his mouth, or push the foreskin back or –

“You can do it any way you want to,” Fraser said breathlessly, at which point Ray realized he hadn’t just been thinking those thoughts.

“Yeah?” Ray gasped.

“Yes,” Fraser groaned.

“God, Fraser, I can’t wait to do that,” Ray gasped. “Oh, uh, Fraser – I’m – gonna–”

“Yes, Ray, come–” He hesitated, clearly momentarily uncomfortable repeating what he’d said so many times in the bathroom at Nut Bush, but he pushed on. “Come for me, Ray, come hard,” Fraser gulped, chest heaving, his nipples dark and puckered, a blush climbing across his collarbones and up his neck to his face.

Ray spurted, grabbing his old T-shirt, and coming into it. He tried to watch Fraser come and make sure he hit the T-shirt at the same time, but it was too much effort; he gave up and just milked his cock through his orgasm, watching Fraser do the same to himself, his stomach convulsing and his thighs twitching and his upper teeth sunk into his luscious lower lip, groans coming between them.

They slid down in bed simultaneously, and Ray wiped himself with his worn old T-shirt, and then Fraser with the one he’d given him.

“That was …awesome,” he whispered, breathing hard, closing his eyes.

“It was indeed,” Fraser panted.

“We’re off to a pretty good start,” Ray murmured happily. “After I get tested–”

“Tested?” Fraser interrupted, sitting up on one elbow.

Ray opened his eyes and looked over at Fraser, who looked down at him with concern. “Yeah, tested.”

Fraser seemed genuinely baffled, but then mounting concern dawned in his expression.

Ray paused, searching for just the right words. “We talked about it briefly before we started, but… I knew it wasn’t without risks. All that sex with all those dudes. I mean… before you and I have actual sex, I should get tested. To be sure I don’t have anything. That I could give you.”

Fraser’s mouth opened and he blanched, like the full reality of the situation was only now hitting him.

“This must be one of those things that’s right in front of your nose that you don’t see. Don’t freak now,” Ray added quickly. “I told you, what you said and what I’ve read jived. I think it was pretty low risk. But it wasn’t _without_ risk. I mean, let’s not kid ourselves. And I don’t just mean HIV. I mean any other stupid shit I might need antibiotics for.”

Fraser shut his mouth and his eyes, his face crumpling for a moment, and then he composed his features and opened his eyes and nodded. “Of course,” he said, his voice far too well modulated for Ray to think that his feelings were as well controlled. "I can't imagine why that didn't occur to me."

“Yeah, I’ll go to one of those clinics where you get to remain anonymous.”

“I’ll go with you,” Fraser said, meeting Ray’s eyes. “I should get tested too,” he added.

Ray didn’t know what to do with that, so he just nodded. “Sure, okay.”

The worst of the weirdness of the night over, Ray wanted to succumb to the post-orgasmic sleepiness. He yawned and sighed. “Uh. I think I better say good night. ’Bout to fall asleep here.”

“All right, Ray,” Fraser replied.

But he sat up, and found Ray’s underwear and his own. He slid Ray’s onto Ray’s lower legs, up to his knees. Then Ray squinched down in bed to pull them up. Then Fraser did one of those many weird flexible moves Ray had discovered Fraser was capable of, bending nearly completely flat at the waist, getting his underwear on his bad foot and over the Ace bandage on it, then putting his other foot in the opposite leg and pulling them up.

As Ray was just drifting off, Fraser curled around him, throwing his good leg and good arm over Ray’s thighs and chest possessively. “We can go to Howard Brown Clinic,” Fraser murmured. “They don’t even take your real name; they assign you a number.”

Ray didn’t even want to ask how Fraser knew that, but it probably wasn’t even anything scandalous. Fraser knew more about Chicago than most people who’d lived here their entire lives. “Okay, sounds good,” Ray murmured, deliciously sleepy and warm and surrounded by Fraser.

Lips brushed his neck and his ear and pressed into the hair at the back of his head. “You’re just as beautiful in a solitary orgasm as you were orgasming …with a partner,” Fraser murmured quietly in Ray’s ear. “So – sexy.”

Ray smiled, surprised to even know that Fraser knew how to use ‘sexy’ in a sentence, sort of. He drifted off to Fraser’s whispered descriptions of how Ray’s forearm muscles moved when he masturbated, how his neck tightened until the veins stood out, how his stomach muscles fluttered, the shine of a droplet of pre-ejaculate at the tip of his penis, how his eyes squeezed shut and a sheen of sweat broke out on his upper lip when he was about to ejaculate…

Ray fell asleep thinking he’d never heard clinical, proper terms sound so erotic.


	13. Chapter 13

They sat in the waiting room, holding hands, until their numbers were called. They would be called separately, but the staff was aware they were there together as partners. Ray was a little nervous, but it was nothing compared to Fraser, who fidgeted like a five-year-old.

“Fraser. Stop. Whatever the result, we’ll _handle_ it.”

“I know, Ray.” The reply was far more assured than the behavior: Fraser picked lint off his shirt, tugged the tiniest thread sticking up out of the weave of denim in his jeans, pulled at the collar of his blue Henley under his flannel shirt.

“Fraser.” Ray’s thumb traced the edge of the ring on Fraser’s finger.

“Yes, Ray?” But he was distracted, not really paying attention.

“That night in the park, when you sprained your ankle rescuing the kitten.”

Fraser turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“You were reciting a poem. Something you know by heart, right?”

Fraser hesitated. “Yes, I was.”

“Recite it now.”

“Ray,” Fraser began hesitantly. “I was feeling very sorry for myself, and like – everything was impossible. I don’t – I don’t want to…”

“Yeah, but reciting it calmed you down, right? Kept you from kind of losing it, right?”

Fraser bowed his head. “I suppose. Yes.”

“Okay. So…” Ray shrugged. “So it’s like a mantra, then. So recite it now.”

Fraser took a deep breath. “It’s depressing, Ray. I’ve memorized – I was a lonely child, a lonely, romantic youth. I grew up in very isolated circumstances–”

Ray squeezed his hand. “I know. Just – it’ll keep us both occupied, okay? Recite it.”

Fraser sighed. “All right.” He took a breath and began. “I dwell alone,–I dwell alone, alone, Whilst full my river flows down to the sea, Gilded with flashing boats That bring no friend to me: O love-songs, gurgling from a hundred throats, O love-pangs, let me be…”

Ray let himself be lulled by the rhythm. And it _was_ sad and depressing, but it was also beautiful and descriptive. When Fraser finished Ray nodded.

“Ray?” Fraser whispered.

“That’s good,” Ray murmured. “Will you – say it again?”

“Ray,” Fraser repeated softly. “Why aren’t you – more upset? More – ill at ease?” His distress was colored by bewilderment.

Ray shrugged. “Fatalism? I don’t know.” He leaned into Fraser, their shoulders touching, and squeezed Fraser’s hand again. “Or maybe because I’ve got you, or at least I’ve got you _now_ , and no matter what happens, they can’t take that away from me.” He nudged Fraser. “Again. Please? Until they call one of us.”

“You’ve got me,” Fraser said emphatically, squeezing Ray’s hand. “Not just ‘now.’” He took a breath and began again.

Ray closed his eyes and pictured all that Fraser recited: the avenue of oaks with spider webs strung between, the falling swallow, falling into tempest-tossed seas with no one to miss or mourn it, the maidens he wasn’t sure but thought were the figureheads of ships.

Someone in scrubs came out and called a number. Ray and Fraser examined the numbers on their little pieces of paper, and exchanged a glance. It was Ray’s number, so he squeezed Fraser’s hand once more, let go of it, and stood up to follow the short dude in scrubs. He looked over his shoulder, once. Fraser’s expression was forlorn but resolute.

* * *

Ray waited for Fraser, limp with relief, limper than he’d even expected. He’d thought he was prepared for the possibility of catching something from fucking around with all those different guys, even though it mostly wasn't even fucking. But there was a lot of come, even if it was all _on_ and never _in_ him except in a condom. Well, he was HIV negative and he didn’t have anything else - and if there had been anything else - anything except for herpes – it could be cured with simple antibiotics. Realistically, he felt like he'd dodged a bullet.

When Fraser came out, looking dazed but relieved, Ray’s heart jumped up to his throat and hammered there. The possibility of sex between them really existed now. That was intimidating as hell, somehow. Which was silly; he already knew the kinds of things Fraser liked, or liked to watch, and liked to see him engage in. Unlike most couples about to get it on for the first time, he actually had a pretty good idea what his lover would like in bed.

Or did he?

Fraser walked over to Ray, and he spoke quietly. “Good news, I take it?”

“Yep. Yourself?”

“Indeed. Nothing to worry about.” He inhaled sharply and ducked his head. “I received a lecture on safe sex, barrier protection, and monogamy.” He swallowed. “And instructions to continue to use barrier protection for the next three months if in a monogamous relationship.” He cleared his throat. “In case any recent contact should seroconvert to HIV in the next twelve weeks.”

“Yeah, I think they do that with everyone,” Ray replied. “They told me the same thing.” He stood up. “Ready?” He couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there, despite the best efforts of the staff to make it less clinical, more human and warm.

“Yes, please.” Fraser felt that way too, apparently.

Once in the GTO, Ray was starving. “Food, we need food.”

Fraser nodded, looking out the window, and a chorus of yips and yelps agreed from the back seat.

“Eat out, or order and bring it home?”

“Would it be all right if we brought it home?” Fraser asked. His voice was mild, but it was unlike him to ask. That was enough to make Ray agree.

“Sure, Frase.”

* * *

Bellies full – but not too full; Ray didn’t want to be too full to fool around, in case the opportunity arose – they lazed on the couch in the living room. Fraser read the newspaper; Ray channel-surfed. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until Fraser jostled him with a hand on his shoulder. Ray opened his eyes to Fraser looking down on him.

“You’d better move to the bed, Ray. You’ll wake up with a neck ache or a back ache or both, like last time.”

“Right,” Ray said, and yawned mightily. “Come with me.”

Fraser froze. “What?”

“Come with me,” Ray repeated, groping for the TV remote to turn it off. It was already muted.

“Where?” Fraser asked stiffly.

“To bed,” Ray said, grabbing Fraser’s forearm, and using it to pull himself up to a sitting position. He stretched luxuriously, then. “Remember when we used to make out in the GTO? All that heavy petting?”

“Is that what it’s called?” Fraser asked, relaxing somewhat.

“Well,” Ray replied, standing, “that’s what my mom used to call it. Stella and me called it making out. I think the kids call it macking now. I’m not even really sure.”

“Heavy petting,” Fraser said slowly. His lips curved in a smile. “It’s wonderful to have a ‘remember when’ with you,” he said shyly.

“That is pretty cool,” Ray smiled, grasping Fraser’s elbow and gently directing him towards the bedroom.

In the bedroom, Fraser closed the blinds, darkening the room somewhat, although it was still clearly daylight. He turned to Ray.

“We should start with our clothes on, like we always had in your car,” he suggested. Only the slightest vibration in his voice hinted he might be nervous.

“Okay,” Ray said easily, and sat down on the end of the bed, pulling Fraser down with him. “The nice thing is,” Ray kissed Fraser’s cheek, “now we don’t have to stop,” he kissed Fraser’s jaw, “if we want to keep going.” He paused, holding Fraser’s face in both his hands, Fraser’s hands on both his forearms. “Think you can handle that?”

“I’ll do my best,” Fraser said, before leaning forward to kiss Ray, hard.

Then Fraser refreshed Ray’s memory and Ray remembered how talented Fraser’s tongue and lips, fingers and hands had been. Around the time Ray had his hand in Fraser’s jeans and Fraser had his teeth in Ray’s neck and his fingers in Ray’s mouth, Ray remembered dreamily they didn’t have to stop. Exultation thrummed through him. He pulled Fraser’s fingers from his mouth and then gently pushed Fraser down on the bed and sank down beside him, his head on his hand, propped on an elbow.

“What’s this,” Ray whispered, touching Fraser’s upper lip gently, tracing the groove that ran from under Fraser’s nose to his upper lip. “What’s it called, this groove?”

“The… the philtrum,” Fraser answered softly.

“You have the most perfect philtrum I’ve ever seen,” Ray said, leaning down to kiss Fraser’s lips. He pulled back again. “And your upper lip – I never understood that ‘cupid’s bow’ term until I overheard two female beat cops talking about you in the squad room. You _do_ have a cupid’s bow lip. It’s fantastic.”

He leaned down and kissed it again, and then leaned back, his head braced on his palm. He slid a hand under Fraser’s shirt, started at the exposed inch of skin between the bottom of Fraser’s rucked-up shirt and the waistband of his jeans.

Fraser’s tentative smile at Ray was warm. “Thank you.” He reached up to trace Ray’s eyebrow. “You’re so attractive, Ray. I was prevaricating in the crypt. I didn’t want to be caught out, in front of so many witnesses, when I couldn’t tell what your motives were. I have found you attractive from the very first moment we met.”

“Yeah?” Ray asked happily. It was good to hear it.

“Yes,” Fraser murmured, sliding a hand behind Ray’s head to pull him down for another kiss.

They kissed like that a little while, Ray's hand under Fraser's shirt, stroking his chest and gently pinching his nipples until Fraser breathed heavily during their kisses.

“Ray,” Fraser broke the kiss, pressing his lips to Ray’s jaw.

“Yeah, Frase,” Ray said, pushing Fraser’s shirt up and sliding down to kiss Fraser’s chest. He licked a nipple and then blew on it, watching it harden.

“It feels simply decadent to do this in the middle of the day,” Fraser said softly.

“It’s a Saturday, Fraser,” Ray murmured against Fraser’s skin before he sucked one of Fraser’s nipples into his mouth, catching it gently between his teeth. Fraser arched up into the sensation, gasping quietly.

“Oh, God, Ray,” Fraser groaned when Ray’s mouth moved to the other nipple and his fingers lightly pinched the moist nipple where Ray’s mouth had just been. Fraser arched and wriggled beneath Ray.

“Fraser,” Ray murmured when he drew his mouth back. “Take off your shirt,” he said, sitting up and taking off his own.

Fraser sat up and did as he was asked. Then they both climbed completely on the bed, still in their jeans, but shirtless now. They fell into each other’s arms, kissing, hugging, rubbing their chests together, legs twining together. Ray was hard, felt Fraser’s hardness, thrust his thigh between Fraser’s, rubbed his hard, clothed cock against Fraser’s, who pressed his erection up firmly into Ray’s hip.

“Ray…” Fraser crooned softly, his cheek slightly rough against Ray’s. “Please…”

“Please, what…” Ray asked, thrusting against Fraser. “You don’t even have your pants open…”

“I can–” Fraser fumbled for his fly, cramming his hand between himself and Ray.

“Let me,” Ray purred, sliding his hand down from Fraser’s chest to his fly. He unbuttoned and unzipped it slowly as they both watched, then opened Fraser’s pants and slid a hand inside. Fraser’s cock was hard and hot and he grasped it, tightening his hold slowly until Fraser moaned.

“That’s – that’s –” Fraser broke off.

“You like that?” Ray asked, voice husky.

“Yes,” Fraser whispered.

Ray stroked Fraser’s hard cock tightly, down toward the root of it, pulling the foreskin back. The head was entirely wet and shiny and Ray was fascinated. He moved closer to it, watched as he did it again. Upstrokes seemed to cover the head with the foreskin, and downstrokes exposed it - Fraser was leaking copious amounts of pre-ejaculate.

“Jesus, Fraser,” Ray murmured, jacking Fraser slowly, attentively, listening to Fraser’s breathing change and hitch.

“Ray?” Fraser asked faintly, a little anxiously, breathing hard.

“It’s so _wet_ ,” Ray whispered appreciatively. “You, uh, you make a lot of – pre-come…” He jacked Fraser a little faster.

Fraser didn’t respond at first. Then, he answered cautiously. “Is that – all right?”

“It’s fantastic,” Ray said, getting up on his hands and knees to crawl up to face Fraser. “The risk – Fraser, the ‘no unprotected sex for three months into a monogamous relationship’ – that risk is all on my side, you know that, right?”

Fraser blinked up at him slowly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s _my_ come we have to worry about, not yours. I was the one having sex with a bunch of different guys every week; you weren’t.”

Fraser blushed and bit his lip. “Yes, but that wasn’t your–”

“That’s not my _point_ ,” Ray asserted. He kissed Fraser hard, wet, and sloppy. “I mean, you can come on me, in me, wherever; it’s not your come we have to worry about!”

“Oh,” Fraser said uncertainly. Then, as understanding dawned, “Oh!” He blushed and sat up on his elbows. “Ray–”

“Fraser,” Ray murmured against his lips, then kissed Fraser’s naked chest and licked a nipple. “Let me – let me do this –” He kept loosely jacking Fraser as he spoke and kissed down Fraser’s chest. “Let me suck you, I want to, let me do this for you–”

“Really?” Fraser breathed. “But I can’t return –”

“You will, eventually, right?” Ray murmured into Fraser’s hipbone.

“Of course,” Fraser agreed softly. He tentatively ran a hand through the hair at the back of Ray’s head, and Ray leaned into it, like a cat, jacking Fraser’s cock faster. “Of course I will, Ray,” Fraser’s voice rumbled.

“Then I’m gonna,” Ray said, leaning up on an elbow and tilting Fraser’s cock towards his face.

He did a tight downstroke, exposing the wet head, and then touched the tip of his tongue to it. He looked at it in the afternoon light filtering through the closed blinds. Fraser’s tentative hand on the back of his head was so _sweet_.

“You have it too,” he murmured wonderingly. He sucked the whole head into his mouth and Fraser’s stomach lurched under his cheek as he moaned, but he didn’t press Ray’s mouth down on him, just held Ray’s head gently, his fingertips massaging Ray’s scalp.

“Have… what… too…?” Fraser panted.

“That notch, at the back,” Ray said, his mouth off, his hand moving. “But it’s attached to – anyway, what’s it called? That V-shaped notch at the back of the head of the cock? It’s so sensitive.”

He sucked Fraser’s cock-head into his mouth again, holding the foreskin back, and rubbed his tongue along the notch as Fraser’s stomach trembled and his fingertips tightened in Ray’s hair.

“Th-the… frenulum…” Fraser gasped. Now his hand on the back of Ray’s head did push, a little. Then stopped, like he'd just realized what he’d done.

“Hmmm,” Ray hummed around Fraser’s cock, and then he got to work.

He’d only been sucking and helping with his hand for, well, it seemed like a few seconds – but maybe it was more like twenty? – when Fraser’s taut abdomen lurched.

“Ray!” burst from Fraser’s throat about the same time the hot spurts hit the back of Ray’s throat.

Since there wasn’t really anything to worry about, and he’d never really been a spitter anyway, Ray swallowed. That tightened his mouth and throat around Fraser, making Fraser twitch and whimper and wriggle under him. His fingers tightened in the hair at the back of Ray’s head.

“Ray, Ray, I’m – I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to –” Fraser sounded embarrassed.

Ray swallowed again and Fraser twitched, his cock spurting weakly once more. Ray swallowed again, then pulled his mouth off Fraser’s cock with tight suction like a giant lollipop. Fraser groaned, his hand in Ray’s hair, gripping it firmly, holding Ray off him.

But Ray felt a little disobedient, so he went down once more, to suck the head in and tickle the frenulum with his tongue – and Fraser’s hips jerked, even though he apparently had no more come to spurt. He hissed a moan through his teeth though, and tried to pull Ray off his cock by his hair. So Ray let him.

“That – that was –” Fraser cut himself off and sighed heavily.

Fast, Ray thought. Like it’d been a really, really long time. He hoped it was that, and not that Fraser was a premature ejaculator. Because that would be no fun, although there were ways of dealing with that. Ray was happy, but he hoped he didn’t look quite as smug as he felt when he crawled back up to lie side by side with Fraser.

Their gazes met, Fraser’s somber, Ray’s mischievous.

“I’m sorry that was over – so fast,” Fraser said humbly.

“It’s okay,” Ray said easily.

Fraser closed his eyes, but he groped for Ray’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing Ray’s knuckles. “It was _wonderful_.”

“Yeah?” He knew it, but Ray wasn’t too proud to want to hear it.

“Yes.” Fraser opened his eyes and looked at Ray. “It’s… I haven’t… in quite some time,” he admitted quietly.

Ray sighed inwardly with relief. “I figured,” he said simply, nodding. He shut his eyes and moved closer, throwing his leg carefully over Fraser’s thighs.

“I’m a bit surprised,” Fraser mused distractedly, stroking Ray’s thigh. “I thought that narcotic pain relievers slowed…”

Ray drifted off to into an afternoon nap, thoroughly relaxed and satisfied.

* * *

He woke lying on his stomach, his cheek in a little wet path of drool from his open mouth. Woke to kisses on his back, on his shoulder, on the back of his neck – teeth there, too, giving him goosebumps. Soft murmurs from Fraser stirred the tiny hairs there ticklishly.

“Ray, my Ray – oh, my Ray,” Fraser whispered.

“Fraser,” Ray whispered back.

“Ray, you’re awake,” Fraser said, and the longing in his voice was palpable. “You’re – you’re mine, you’re really mine, _tell me_ you’re mine–”

He lay fully on Ray, the hot shaft of his hard cock nestling in the crease of Ray’s ass. He thrust and eased it through the furrow.

“I’m yours,” Ray said breathlessly, wiping the drool off his cheek. “Fraser?”

“I want you, I want you so much, Ray, can I?” he asked, bracing himself up on his hands and his knees. His knees moved between Ray’s knees, spreading Ray’s legs. It was right about then that Ray realized Fraser was wearing a pair of purple kitchen gloves.

“Fraser, are you wearing a pair of purple latex dishwashing gloves?” And even though this should have been disturbing, Ray’s cock was apparently just fine with this, because it was hardening.

Fraser paused, then dragged his cock through the furrow of Ray’s butt again. And, okay that felt great, and Ray couldn’t help it if it made him want to tuck his hips up a little for more.

“I – yes, Ray.”

“Uh, Fraser, my mom wears those when she comes over here and washes my dishes, after she irons my damn shirts,” Ray grumbled. “Not to get all Freudian, here, but–”

“No, Ray, this was from an unopened package under your sink,” Fraser said earnestly, leaning back down on Ray, but only to trail his mouth from between Ray’s shoulder blades down to his lower back. “You have dimples here, at the bottom of your spine, Ray, they’re lovely,” Fraser breathed. Then Ray had goosebumps on his ass and the backs of his thighs.

“So they’re not my mom’s dishwashing gloves?”

Fraser paused above him. “Well, she may have brought them here and left them under your sink,” Fraser said uncertainly. “But they are from an unopened package, I assure you; I would never use previously used gloves.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Ray knew that.

“You’re wearing them because…?” If he was going to receive it, Fraser had to say it.

Fraser laid down on him, then slid to one side, and stroked a gloved hand over Ray’s ass. “I – for safe sex.”

“Safe… how?”

Suddenly, the possibilities of Fraser’s utterly unfettered, practical mindset, uninhibited by social norms, combined with his woodworking skills and warehouse hardware stores like Home Depot, unfolded in Ray’s mind; they beckoned with delightful, if vague, bondage and domination scenarios, and Ray was suddenly much, much harder.

“Well…” Fraser nuzzled Ray’s shoulder blade, dipping a cool, gloved finger behind Ray’s balls and stroking Ray there.

Ray tried not to whimper. “Well?” Ray prompted, trying to keep his voice even, but failing.

“I thought I could – if you would –” He stroked from the back of Ray’s balls to his hole again. “I thought, if you would permit me, I could...do everything...but-first-fingers-because-I-don’t-want-to-hurt-you,” he finished in a rush against Ray’s shoulder, tucking his face into Ray’s skin.

But still Fraser stroked gently back and forth, back and forth, on Ray’s taint.

Ray swallowed. “Okay,” he agreed. His voice shook a little. “That sounds good. What about your ankle?”

“I’ll –” Fraser pressed his face harder into the back of Ray’s shoulder, then slid his mouth between Ray’s shoulder blades and kissed him there again. He was up on his hands and knees, then, leaning over Ray and opening Ray’s bedside table. “I’ll be on my knees, not my feet.”

“Sure,” Ray said weakly. “Okay.”

“Ready?” Fraser asked, holding Ray's butt cheeks apart with one cold gloved hand.

“Yeah,” Ray whispered. The Glide was cold where it dripped on his hole. But then the sweet, blunt tip of one of Fraser’s fingers smeared it around and pushed in gently, and it felt so good. “Guh. Fraser. God. You don’t mess around.”

Fraser didn’t say anything for a moment, and Ray felt a few more dribbles hit his hole. Then the tip of the bottle clicked, and Fraser’s cool gloved finger smeared the lubricant around and into his hole again.

“I suppose I don’t, when I’ve made up my mind,” Fraser said, though his voice was a little shaky. “Is this all right?”

“It’s great,” Ray groaned. “Trust me, I’ll let you know if it’s not. Just – keep doing what you’re doing.”

So that was how Fraser slowly worked him open, there, lying on his stomach on his bed. Fraser stroked his back with the ridiculous latex dishwashing-gloved other hand, while he rubbed sweet, lubricated circles around and just inside the rim of Ray’s hole until Ray was panting, whispering to Fraser –

“Do it, just _do_ it, stick it in already–”

– and then he penetrated Ray with first one finger, shallowly fucking him. Then he tried two fingertips, just the tips at first – in and out and around the rim until Ray squirmed and his own hands wormed down under his belly to touch his cock.

“Fraser, God, hurry up. I can’t, can’t take this, put them in,” Ray urged thickly, squeezing and trying to stroke his cock and unable to, lying on his stomach.

“Oh, no, Ray.” Fraser’s whisper was perfectly reasonable. “Certain things shouldn’t be rushed.”

“Well, I – I have to–” Ray lurched up onto his hands and knees.

Fraser moved back a little and got right behind Ray, between his legs.

“This will work, this helps,” Fraser murmured agreeably.

He slowly pushed the length of both gloved fingers in while Ray’s breath heaved and sputtered and he stroked his cock and tried not to come. “Is this all right, Ray?” he asked quietly.

“Fraser, it is fucking awesome, just – is that two?”

“Yes, Ray. Two fingers.”

“Just jam the third one in, I’m ready, I’m _ready_ ,” Ray begged. He squeezed just below the head of his cock, and his arousal retreated some. He relaxed on all fours and hung his head down and when Fraser pulled his fingers back, Ray groaned with how good it was. “Oh, Jesus–”

“Ray, I’m trying to go slowly,” Fraser murmured. “I don’t want to–” He trailed off, but he pushed two fingers back in Ray, firmly and slowly. It felt so good.

“Hurt me, I know what you said – don’t care!” Ray twitched around Fraser’s fingers, wanting more.

“I do.” There was an edge to Fraser’s voice now. “I never want to hurt you again–” His fingers withdrew with maddening slowness, the pleasure twisting Ray inside out.

“Fraser. This is – would be – a good hurt, okay?” Ray went down on his forearms, pressing his forehead into them. “Come on, it’ll be okay,” he reassured Fraser, which was kind of funny when he thought about it; it was usually the ass-fucker reassuring the ass-fuckee.

“Is there such a thing?” Fraser’s question was quiet, cautious, and honest. He pushed two fingers in again, a little faster, and Ray sucked his teeth with frustration and pleasure.

“Yeah, there is,” Ray murmured. “Do it – I can take it. I _want_ you. In me. Three fingers. Please.”

Fraser gulped in a breath and then it was not two fingers pushing into Ray, but the three he’d asked for, slow and implacable and stretching him and fuck, it hurt a little, but damn, it was good.

“Yeah,” Ray breathed. “Like that. Yeah.”

Fraser moved behind him, and his gloved fingers pulled all the way out, too suddenly, Ray’s needy ass missing them. But he heard Fraser flick the lid on the Glide and felt more dribble on his hole. Then Fraser’s three fingers were back, much slicker than before, the tips swirling around just inside, making Ray swoon with pleasure, before pushing relentlessly back in.

“You really _have_ ,” Ray moaned appreciatively, “read and researched…” He was never so glad to have his smug superiority kicked out from under him.

Fraser’s voice was dark with lust. “I have, extensively.” He hesitated, speaking more softly. “I knew what you did to prepare, that… one night.” He hurried on, skipping over the fact that that was the first night Ray had confirmed that Fraser was physically capable of sex. “I… experimented on my own,” he admitted, “so I would know what hurt, how it felt…”

He moved his fingers in and out of Ray’s ass a little faster now. Ray bit his own forearm and growled into it. “Oh, my God, I would have loved to see that…” He shuddered, wanting to touch his cock, knowing he’d better not, that he would come quickly if he did.

“I could…” Fraser pulled his fingers almost all the way out. “Show you…” He shoved them in again, faster. “Some time…” He pulled them back.

Ray groaned. “You got the condom on?” he begged.

“No,” Fraser breathed.

“Allow me,” Ray lurched toward the bedside table, Fraser’s fingers sliding free of him and oh, that was sweet, but it would be sweeter still to have Fraser inside him. He found the strip of condoms, tore one off, and was up on his knees facing Fraser.

Fraser was flushed, eyes shining, his face surprisingly uncertain. Ray grabbed him, a hand on either side of his face, and kissed him hotly. Then he bent down and took Fraser’s erect cock into his mouth – just one quick, tight swipe, sucking the sweet, salty wetness around the head into his watering mouth.

“Ray –” Fraser moaned.

“It’ll feel better if you’re wet under it,” Ray murmured.

He tore open the condom packet with his teeth, making a split-second decision he hoped was right for uncut cocks – some vague memory he thought he remembered from maybe the one time he actually read the instructions with a box of condoms, one he wished he hadn’t skimmed quickly past, thinking it would never apply to him – one hand stroking down Fraser’s cock to pull back the sheath of skin and fully expose the head, the other sliding the condom on Fraser one-handed. They were lubricated condoms, but Fraser seemed to make his own lube in quantity, so –

Ray kissed Fraser, hard, one more time, then turned away and got back on all fours. Fraser pressed close to him, his thighs hot and ticklish behind and between Ray’s own.

“Ray,” Fraser whispered, voice wrecked. He tore off the dishwashing gloves.

Ray felt Fraser push just the very tip in, and it was sweet. Then he gripped Ray’s hip firmly with his left hand. Ray quivered with anticipation, and then, guiding his cock with his other hand, Fraser slowly and steadily pushed in to Ray. Ray exhaled long and slow, relaxing to let him in, and – fuck – it was amazing, it had been for-fucking-ever since he’d done this, in a bed, anyway, and never with someone who actually cared about him. He had never really in his wildest dreams expected this with Fraser of all people, but hell, why not. Fraser was always revealing strange, hidden talents you’d never expect.

“Oh, God,” Ray sighed softly as Fraser bottomed out inside him. Fraser was still for a moment, breathing hard. And then, both hands steadying Ray’s hips, he pulled out, as slow and steady as he’d pushed in. “Oh, _Jesus_ ,” Ray moaned. “You’re prepared for everything…”

Fraser pushed in again, deliciously slow, hands tight and slippery on Ray’s hips. He bent his body over Ray’s, his hot chest over Ray’s back. “Not – everything,” he whispered.

Fraser pulled back again and Ray groaned helplessly, lost in sensation, the delicious push and pull, the piercing invasion of this crazy beautiful man he’d fallen for –

“Ray,” Fraser murmured. “Can we –”

He withdrew completely from Ray and Ray whimpered at the loss. But Fraser put his hands around Ray’s waist, slid them up his flanks to his armpits, and urged Ray up on his knees, his chest still to Ray’s back. Then he pushed one shoulder, pulled the other, turning Ray until they faced each other.

“Fraser,” Ray sighed gustily at the interruption of fucking. “What?”

“Ray, I–” Fraser cut himself off, and kissed Ray, soft, then strong, deep, and wet. When he pulled back, he gestured for Ray to lie back. “This, this way, please, can you? I –”

“Sure,” Ray said dumbly, sitting back on his haunches and then lying back. Fraser followed him down, never dropping his gaze. He slid between Ray’s legs, erection never flagging, and pressed a hand behind Ray’s knee, pushing it up.

“I’m not as flexible as you, though,” Ray whispered.

Fraser bent to kiss Ray’s mouth quickly. “Hold this,” he whispered back, nodding at Ray’s knee, his eyes shining. Ray grabbed the back of his own knee, and Fraser took his hand away to aim his cock back into Ray’s ass.

Ray didn’t think it would make that much of a difference, honestly. But when Fraser pushed in, it did; the angle was completely different, and every time Fraser pushed in or pulled back, he stroked that quivering little spot inside that made Ray weak. “Oh, fuck,” Ray gasped helplessly.

Fraser pressed his forehead down hard beside Ray’s head and began fucking Ray hard and fast. Ray groaned, unprepared for this; he hadn’t expected Fraser to go animalistic on him, but – but why not, surely Fraser was starved for everything, every possible way. Fraser slowed for a moment, pulled back, and pushed both of Ray’s knees back, and Ray let him, even though he knew his hamstrings would be sore tomorrow.

Fraser knew what the fuck he was doing, he did. His own hands free, Ray stole a hand down and stroked his cock, weakly. But then Fraser went back to banging the hell out of him, so Ray just held his balls out of the way – Fraser braced himself on Ray’s bent thighs, Ray bent double like a pretzel for Fraser – well, what _wouldn’t_ he do for Fraser?

Fraser slowed once again, releasing Ray’s knees. Ray let his legs drift down around Fraser, who laid down fully on Ray, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, between Ray’s legs, trapping Ray’s hand on his cock and balls between them.

He kissed Ray, hard, murmuring into Ray’s lips, murmuring “Oh, Ray,” and “My Ray,” and “Can I?”

His hands snaked down to grab Ray’s wrists and draw them up above Ray’s head, all the while whispering, “Is it all right?” and “Do you like this?” and “You’re so _responsive_ …”

By which time Fraser had Ray’s wrists pinned in a hot, cruel, one-handed grip over Ray’s head, Fraser’s other hand firmly holding the back of Ray’s one knee back so far that his knee was almost in his armpit – the better for Fraser to sensually and slowly grind and fuck up into Ray.

Fraser looked down on Ray, his eyes hooded with desire. Tendrils of his sweat-wet hair hung over his forehead and shook with every movement, with his control and effort. He watched Ray moan and writhe beneath him, watched Ray suck his teeth and pant and bite his lip and beg –

“Fraser, Fraser, let me, come on, n-need to, let me, please…”

– all while he murmured and gasped his replies: “Yes, Ray… Not yet… No, Ray… I know, Ray… Not yet, shhh… Almost, Ray… You’re so gorgeous, this way… You’re so _good_ to me…”

When he wasn’t squeezing his eyes shut with bliss, fighting the inevitable – Ray watched Fraser wide-eyed with love and desire. He saw the tender strain on Fraser’s face, the vein pulsing at his temple, the sweat trickling from Fraser’s hairline into rivulets that ran down his cheeks to drip off his upper lip, near his perfect _philtrum_. He watched Fraser hold himself back, hold himself in check, _control_ his orgasm – the way Fraser had prepared, had read and researched and experimented. Because Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance. Saw the way Fraser had to be not just good at _everything_ , but the _best_ at everything. Had to know everything, learn everything, control everything, _do_ everything to please his lover, to _love_ his lover the best he could…

This core Benton Fraser underneath it all, Ray saw, needed so badly to please and pleasure and impress because he wasn’t sure he would be loved or wanted or needed, otherwise.

Ray closed his eyes, lost in the haze of pleasure and desire. He wriggled his wrists just a bit to trigger Fraser; he had a hunch it would – and it did. Fraser tightened his iron one-hand grip around Ray’s wrists, pushed Ray’s knee back harder with the other hand, and splayed him open wider. He plunged his cock into Ray deeper, ground his hips in a slow circle like a dancer, _just so,_ as he bottomed out deep inside Ray –

– and Ray felt it, then. Felt it begin, inevitable, rising like a wave to drown all their doubts – everything Fraser had fought to avoid that was going to take them both under. The love _and_ pleasure, this communion of body and soul – and he knew he’d been right, he’d been right the first time. The reality of Benton Fraser was way, way better (and way worse) than any of his fantasies. _This_ man, Benton Fraser, was Ray’s ship finally come in, the ship he’d go down with. Probably both. And _Ray didn’t care_ , as long as there was more of this: this deep unmasking, this strange, perfect _fit_.

And oh, he was too old to think it would always be like this. Knew it wouldn’t. Knew Fraser didn’t know that – or maybe he did. But Ray hoped somehow, someday, he could show Fraser that he could stop all his desperate effort to be good and the best and perfect – and just _be._ And maybe let Ray make his own desperate efforts. Because maybe Benton Fraser wasn’t the only guy who had to do everything to please his lover, to _prove_ his love, in order to be _sure_ he was loved and wanted and needed.

They shuddered, coming together, Fraser’s iron grip on Ray’s wrists and the back of his knee slipping with sweat, Ray spasming around Fraser’s cock rocking inside him. Their noise must have awakened Dief because he howled exultantly with them from the living room. Which was weird. But then Ray couldn’t hold it against the wolf because he was pretty sure Dief had tried to argue his case with Fraser from the start.

* * *

He woke before dawn again, the darkness warm and enveloping, light from street lights coming through the closed Venetian blinds in his bedroom. Ray yawned mightily, closing his eyes again, feeling a delicious soreness in his hamstrings and his ass – not too sore, but enough to know he’d been well-fucked – and slid his hand across the bed to find Fraser. He felt cool, empty sheets. He stretched it farther, sure Fraser was there – but there was nothing but cool, empty sheets.

Ray propped himself up on his elbows, looking around. Fraser wasn’t in bed with him. He glanced at the bedroom door, partly open. The faint light from the kitchen was visible in the hall to his bedroom.

“Fraser?” Ray called.

There was no answer.

Ray sat up in bed, then grabbed the clock from the nearby bedside table. Three forty one AM. Where the fuck was Fraser? Ray slid out of bed, swallowing, and switched on a bedside table lamp, squinting in the sudden brightness. He grabbed his glasses off the table too – might need those. His boxer briefs were on the floor, so he picked them up, put them on, and quickly headed out of the bedroom.

In the kitchen, he turned on the light. There was no note, no Dief, no Fraser on the couch. Fraser’s coat wasn’t in the closet by the front door. Ray went to the coffee table – no Stetson. There was one – only one – crutch under the coffee table.

Ray scratched the back of his head, thinking. Okay, so Fraser had taken Dief out. It wasn’t… unheard of for Dief to need to go out at a strange hour of the night. He had an irregular diet, to say the least. Ray hadn’t realized his heart was pounding until he felt it slow down.  
  
He went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. He drank half the water, poured the rest down the drain, left the glass on the counter, went to take a short piss, and went back to bed.

 


	14. Chapter 14

_(before falling back to sleep, Ray reflects on the day including Fraser's recitation of Christina Rossetti)_

you were the one seemed might  
  
                                “die of waiting” then  
  
so I asked you to recite that  
  
                                 calming poem –  
  
a lot of the words were sad along the way  
  
but what i remember not sad was  
  
                                                     “one hour more  
  
                                                       and we dance”  
  
and what i remember not sad was  
  
                                                     “one hour more  
  
                                                       and we stand  
  
                                                       face to face  
  
                                                       hand in hand”  
  
so we had that hour  
  
and now a life face to face and  
  
                           hand in hand and  
  
dancing dancing dancing


	15. Chapter 15

At seven thirty nine, Ray woke again, bright light behind the blinds. He rolled onto his other side, to wallow and avoid the light, his eyes half-closed, felt for Fraser –

No Fraser.

Ray sat up, eyes wide open. Fraser’s side of his bed looked like it hadn’t been touched since Ray’s glass of water and piss in the middle of the night, when he’d first found Fraser and Dief missing. He scrambled out of bed and went into the living room. No Fraser, no note in the kitchen, no brewing coffee, no breakfast rolls or danishes or those muffins Fraser sometimes picked up –

Where was he?

The solitary crutch lay on the floor under the coffee table where it had been last night, and Ray sank down on the couch. He picked it up, trying not to panic, trying to think _logically_. As if that applied in this situation.

Fraser had only taken one crutch. He wasn’t just walking Dief. He clearly meant to be gone longer than a dog-walk. So, one crutch. Traveling… light. Why would he need to travel light?

If he were leaving.

Ray was still brushing his teeth when he shoved an arm into his jacket. He wrote a note – FRASER – CALL MY CELL, USE HOME PHONE – and taped it to his front door. Then he grabbed the one crutch – who knew what the stupid, stubborn Mountie might have gotten himself into, with only the one – and left, running down the stairs.

In the GTO, Ray ran down his mental list of places Fraser would go. Top choice: the Consulate – except, even though that was Fraser’s home, supposedly, he didn’t think Fraser really liked it there; more like it was some place to stay while he, while he… while he _what_? Fraser had never gotten another place after his apartment building burned down. And Ray hadn't ever wondered why before. This suddenly seemed not just monumentally stupid but incredibly oblivious, but he had no choice but to put a pin in that.

Second choice, the library. Third, the chess tables. Fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh, the largest and most wilderness-y Chicago parks where Fraser had “camped” and built a campfire and pitched his tent.

Ray got coffee from a drive-through, breakfast the same way, and barely tasted either – the coffee only a necessity because he needed the caffeine to prevent caffeine withdrawal. And to wake up and stay awake. He spent the next four hours checking all those locations and every other place he could think of. Fraser was at none of them. He was nowhere to be found. Ray checked his cell phone for the thousandth time – no calls. It was a Sunday morning; who would call him? No one, not even Welsh, unless there was some big Major Crimes thing they got called in on.

By twelve noon, Ray was at a payphone inside a Dunkin Donuts, methodically going through the Yellow Pages phone book attached to it, phoning every ER in Chicago. He knew better than to ask if they had a patient Benton Fraser there. Patient privacy laws meant they would automatically refuse to answer the question. So he called each ER asking to speak _to the patient_ Benton Fraser. He was put on hold every time, which he expected. But every time, each ER secretary came back on the line saying there was no such patient there, dashing Ray’s hopes a little more.

Ray slammed the phone into the cradle viciously after the last ER in the yellow pages told him they had no such patient there. Fraser was the kind of guy who could easily hide if he wanted to; it wouldn’t be difficult. But last night had been so amazing. Why would he do that, now?

Well, why wouldn’t he? His entire MO had been laid out last night. He was protecting Ray from himself. But Ray suspected the unspoken flip side was also true: he was protecting himself from Ray, or at least from his feelings for Ray.

Ray moved from the payphone to the counter and morosely flagged down the server. “Coffee and a glazed donut,” he muttered. Breakfast of champions. Lunch. Whatever.

He swiped a hand across his forehead and into his hair. He’d looked everywhere he could think of. Checked everywhere Fraser would wind up if he’d fallen and hurt himself with only the one crutch or suffered some kind of foul play. Well, not everywhere. He took his cell phone out and dialed Mort.

“Mort. Kowalski.”

“Ah, Detective,” Mort’s deep voice boomed through the phone. “How can I help?”

“Any white male John Does, five foot nine to six foot one with blue eyes, dark brown to black hair, pale skin, and a sprained ankle in an Ace bandage show up last night?”

He couldn’t ask Mort if Fraser had showed up, he just couldn’t. Besides, he was pretty sure if Fraser had shown up dead, he would already have gotten that phone call – and, if he hadn’t, it would be the first thing Mort told him.

“Couple of white male John Does came in – none that tall, both with light hair. Sorry, Detective,” Mort said apologetically.” He paused. “Is Constable Fraser with you?”

“No, why?” Ray asked suspiciously.

“No reason,” Mort replied, “just thought he might like my spare ticket to ‘Un ballo in Maschera’.”

“I’ll ask him when I see him,” Ray said tersely. “Thanks, Mort.”

“Adio, Detective.”

Ray clapped the phone shut and stared at his coffee cup, thinking of the time Fraser had gone ice fishing at the city reservoir, not realizing there were no fish. Maybe he was homesick again – though it was not winter, there was no ice, and the timing was suspicious, to say the least. They’d had a conversation later the same day Fraser had caught the body in the reservoir, about all the parks with ponds and lagoons that did stock fish –

– and then Ray was up, up off the stool by the counter, striding to the register, hurriedly paying his check, because he hadn’t checked any of those. The parks Fraser chose to “camp” in at night weren’t usually the same ones he fished in by day.

Ray was all over the place; he had to focus; there were a lot of parks Fraser could have picked. On the other hand, Fraser was on foot, with one crutch only. He might take a taxi, though that seemed unlikely; he might also take the bus. Ray had to think. Fortunately, he wasn’t that far from one of the Park District parks with a fieldhouse, and they generally had maps and pamphlets for all the parks. Fraser couldn’t get very far on foot only. If Ray started with the Consulate as the center point, and fanned out in an expanding circle, starting with the parks closest to the Consulate –

But Fraser had said something, something about a couple of cemeteries that had ponds you could fish in –

He drove to the fieldhouse anyway, and amid screaming kids playing kickball and basketball, Ray found the maps for the Chicago Park District parks closest to the Consulate, eliminating those without ponds or lagoons. By luck or chance, a janitor who happened to be an angler came through with a mop to clean up soda some kids had spilled. When he saw Ray perusing the fishing pamphlets, he made a comment about fishing cemetery ponds; that was how they’d gotten into a conversation about all the cemeteries with ponds in Chicago.

Which was how Ray found himself driving to a cemetery closer to the Consulate than any of the parks, with not one but two ponds one could fish in, neither of which Fraser had ever mentioned. But it would be just like Fraser – who showed you who he was just as much in what he _wouldn’t_ or _couldn’t_ do, as in what he _could_ and _did_ – to hold those cards close to his chest and not play them until and unless he needed them… to not share secret knowledge he had unless he absolutely had to… to find some empty place to get away from everyone and everything…

…to pull himself back into his shell like a crab and fear – and hope for – someone to love him enough to entice him back out, and to pull him out if enticing didn’t work.

The good thing about cemeteries, versus parks, was you could drive through them; it took less time than walking.

It was a beautiful if slightly chilly day, with blue skies, puffy white clouds, and bright sun. If this wasn’t the right place, well, there was still plenty of daylight left to burn. In a way, it had become like a scavenger hunt for Ray – a frightening scavenger hunt, though he was pretty sure by now that Fraser wasn’t in a hospital or a morgue anywhere. Fraser didn’t have a car, preferred to walk and use public transit, and was still walking around on one crutch. So he couldn’t have gotten far. Where did he keep his fishing tackle? The Consulate. Ray hadn’t thought to check for it there, but he would put money on it being missing, especially given how early in the night Fraser had taken off.

Ray parked a little ways from the shaded glen surrounding the smallest of the ponds in Hillrose Cemetery, and stepped into the grass. He sighed. Too bad cemeteries were full of dead people – and, especially on Sundays, people visiting graves – because they were pretty peaceful oases of nature in the middle of an urban wasteland.

Ray zipped his jacket and walked through the grass to the smaller pond; there was supposed to be some kind of wooded path to the other, larger pond. But the janitor had said that shady spots were where the fish often liked to hang out, and there was more foliage overhanging the smaller pond, so…

He hesitated, thinking he heard a voice. Then Ray’s steps quickened, because he was _sure_ he heard someone talking –

“ –like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.”

It was Fraser, although it sounded like he had a head cold. Ray’s heart skipped a beat and began pounding so hard he had to bend over and brace his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. If this was what a heart attack felt like, he was going to kill Fraser. After he kissed him. He kept breathing slow and deep until his heart slowed back to normal, then resumed walking and listening.

“Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.”

Ray followed a slightly worn path through some bushes and came out on the stony edge of the smaller pond. Sure enough, there was Fraser a little ways away, wounded leg stretched out straight, the other bent. He had his pole out, line in the green, murky water, bobber on the surface, Dief lying at his side. He wiped his eyes and sniffed back a load of snot like a child and began reciting his poem again, when Dief raised his head and flicked his ears at Ray, then stood and wagged his tail eagerly.

“My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.”

Ray picked his way along the stones that lined the shore until he was close enough to bend down a bit and run his hand through Dief’s fur. Fraser looked up at Ray, his eyes wet, the apples of his cheeks damp and flushed, his lips red from biting them.

“Hi, Ray,” he said, his voice thick, sounding congested.

“Hi,” Ray said.

In a split second Ray decided to go for normal instead of freaking out and shouting at Fraser about running around Chicago since he found Fraser missing at like seven thirty in the morning, and it was now pushing towards three in the afternoon – and being tired and worried and afraid Fraser had changed his mind about them, about _him._ Because this so obviously had everything and yet also clearly _nothing_ to do with him. With them.

Ray hesitated. “How’s the foot? Ankle, I mean.”

Fraser looked down at his bobber in the water. “It hurts less today.” He sucked in a breath like he was about to say more, but then let it out in a rush.

“I was worried,” Ray said. He sat down on the stones. "Oh, before I forget: Mort has an extra ticket to Um Ballo in Mascara." He sighed.

“Oh." Fraser paused. "Kind of him." He hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Ray, I’m–”

“Don’t apologize; just, just, just–” Ray scrubbed a hand over his face. “Leave a note next time, okay?”

“All right,” Fraser said meekly. “I – I just needed–”

“Some alone time, I get it,” Ray sighed. "Look, you can just _tell me_ you need some alone time. I’m not going to stop you. I just was afraid something happened to you. You left one of the crutches behind.”

“I – was afraid I would hurt your feelings,” Fraser admitted. “If I told you I needed to – be alone.”

“So slink out while I’m sleeping like you did, and leave a note,” Ray replied.

Fraser looked guilty, but he nodded. Ray decided to lie back on the grass under the tree overhanging Fraser’s fishing spot. Dief laid down beside him. Ray stroked his fingers through Dief's thick fur and watched the leaves above him move gently, revealing slivers of blue sky.

“You’re a remarkable detective,” Fraser said carefully. “I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this fishing spot. To anyone.”

“Thank you. Yes, I am.” Ray paused, and a thought occurred to him. He smiled, looking up at the leaves and the dappled light coming through them. “That, and I know you. I _know_ you, Benton Fraser.”

Fraser didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he did, there was a note of wonder in his voice. “I guess you do.”

Fraser cleared his throat and sniffed. He took a deep breath. _Here it comes_ , Ray thought.

“I'm really bad at this,” Fraser said quietly.

“Bad, I don’t know about that. Clueless, maybe. Kind of oblivious, sometimes,” Ray replied. “But, yeah. I know.”

“I suppose it's rather obvious.” Fraser’s voice was barely there.

“Only to someone really close to you,” Ray said slowly, carefully.

“You think so?” Fraser asked almost timidly.

“Yeah.”

“I want to… do all of these things, Ray. I do. So much. I want to do them perfectly. I don’t want to hurt you.” His breath hitched. “You’re my second chance. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I know, Fraser. But, uh, that's kind of unrealistic. No one does any of this perfectly. People who love each other hurt each other accidentally all the time.”

“That’s terrible,” Fraser said with faint indignation.

“That’s human,” Ray sighed. “People wouldn’t do it if they could help it.”

“That's… hard to accept. Almost impossible. I used to... I used to think I could handle anything because I am a Mountie. Because I'd been trained to be prepared for anything.”

“Oh, you’re prepared, all right,” Ray murmured, thinking about the night before, about Fraser’s Proper Preparation and their dreamy fucking. “But… prepared for anything as a Mountie is a little different than prepared for anything in relationships.”

“Very much so, I'm afraid,” Fraser admitted softly.

“Yeah. Well.”

“I'm trying, Ray. I have been. It might not seem like it, but ever since we began dating, I have been trying to – expand my, my – my emotional range, I guess you might say.” Fraser sighed and his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Looking back, it seems... absurd. Freakish, even, what I've put you through. Just to be with me.”

“Or it could just be The Urban Adventures Of The Consensually Nonmonogamous Cop Couple.”

“Don't do that,” Fraser sighed. “Don't minimize what I've done.”

“Don't make it bigger than it is,” Ray replied matter-of-factly. “It was sexual experimentation. Big deal. We tried something outside the box. Whatever. It worked for us for a while. Now it doesn’t. Oh, well. Bottom line, you were protecting me, in your own way.”

“I was trying to protect you from _me_ ,” Fraser whispered. “I can't forgive myself.”

“Nothing to forgive. We both agreed – you didn’t force me. I could’ve said no any time. I didn’t. I was willing to be with you any way I could, any terms you set.”

“It just seems... unfathomably dysfunctional.” Fraser’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“You been reading abnormal psych textbooks again? Fraser, I'm fine – physically, psychologically, whatever. We’re fine, right?” Ray cleared his throat, but closed his eyes to the dappled light and the green leaves and the tiny slivers of blue sky and puffy clouds beyond them. “Judging by last night, we’re _better_ than fine.”

Fraser sighed but didn't speak.

“Now you know the sky's not gonna fall if we're together, _together_ , without a third party," Ray added. "Now you know it's not doomed.”

Fraser said nothing but Ray could hear him breathing.

“Look at it this way,” Ray continued. “We got infidelity out of the way on the front end of our relationship. Sort of.”

Fraser laughed a strangled laugh. “I need my space, Ray. I need to be able to go off alone early in the morning and walk Dief and disappear on my own. I need to be able to disappear to the library for hours and go ice fishing alone. I'm better at...” Fraser trailed off, then continued in a burst. “I’m better at being alone than together with someone. I have almost _no_ experience at being _with_ someone, and a _lifetime_ of living alone. But I _want_ togetherness with you – so much it scares me. While I was in bed with you, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay in bed with you _forever_. I felt deliriously happy – yet trapped. So I had to leave and go fishing.” He sighed heavily. “I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes total sense,” Ray opened his eyes and rolled on his side to look at Fraser, who was moodily running his fingers through the grass beside him. “One, that's the same stuff you always did before we got together. You don’t have to stop doing _any_ of that – that's what makes you  _you._  No one who really loves you would ever make you stop. _I_ never would. Just _leave a fucking note_ when you disappear, so I don’t have to call every emergency room and the morgue when you’ve been gone for hours and I have no idea where or why."

He cleared his throat and smiled. "And B, don't worry about wanting to stay in bed with me all the time and do nothing but fuck. That's normal. That's the sex haze. What they used to call ‘the honeymoon phase’.”

“The sex haze?” Fraser looked up and met Ray’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Ray smiled. “That's where you're finally having sex with the person you love and it’s so good, you can't get enough – it's all you want to do.”

“There's a term for this?” Fraser looked surprised and intrigued.

“Yeah, Fraser. A few terms.”

“How have I missed this?”

“Hmm. Not growing up with constant exposure to TV, movies, pop music, maybe?”

“This happens to everyone?”

“Well, not everyone,” Ray said, slightly smugly. “Only the lovers having great sex together. Like us.”

Fraser didn't speak but just stared at Ray. After a long pause, he smiled tentatively. “Oh.”

Ray grinned back at him. “Yeah.”

* * *

Ray startled awake when he heard movement in the dark in his bedroom. He rolled half over and saw Fraser sitting up on his side of Ray’s bed, jeans on, shrugging into his flannel shirt and bending over to put his boots on. Ray turned to squint at his bedside clock. Three twenty seven in the morning. He glanced over his shoulder at Fraser again.

“What are you doing?”

Fraser stopped lacing his boots and froze. “I have to go to work.” He sounded slightly panicked.

“Me too,” Ray agreed. “In like four and a half hours,” he added, yawning. He turned back to burrow his head under his pillow. “That’s three, three and a half more hours of sleep if I wallow. What's the rush?”

Fraser sat very still. “I – I thought you would want to call in sick,” he said, voice low.

“I want to call in _dead,_ some days.” Ray’s voice was muffled into his forearm and the pillow. “Right now, I just want three more hours of sleep before I get up for work. Why would I call in sick?”

Fraser’s voice was small. “I thought. . . you would want to call in sick and stay in bed all day and night together.” He still hadn’t moved.

Ray hesitated, un-burrowing from his pillow slowly. “Well, not that I wouldn't _like_ to. But Welsh would kill me,” he said carefully. “Plus I was saving my sick and PTO days in case…”

“In case what?” Fraser asked nervously.

“In case we had some future vacation adventure and needed extra time. To get unlost. Or whatever.”

“Oh.” Fraser sounded surprised and wary.

“Yeah.” Ray rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, trying not to stare at half-dressed Fraser.

“So…” Fraser began cautiously. “You don't want to call in sick and stay in bed all day and into the night with me?”

Ray scrubbed a hand over his face. “I'd _love_ to. If we could. But we're in the middle of that numbers-running case. I wanna put it to bed before next weekend.” Ray rolled over on his other side, facing Fraser’s back. “We can do that starting Friday night, if you want – get food, bring it back here, stay in bed. Just fuck, sleep, and eat all weekend. We'll order in when we get hungry.”

“Oh.” Fraser seemed surprised but somehow deflated by this.

“Okay?” Ray asked. He put a cautious hand on Fraser's straight, stiff back, and felt it relax minutely under his touch.

“All right.” Fraser nodded meekly. “I – thank you, Ray. I – misunderstood.”

Ray rolled away from Fraser onto his other side and burrowed back into his pillow. “No worries.” He yawned mightily again. “Come on,” Ray murmured. “Let's get a few extra hours of shut-eye.”

Fraser moved, jostling the bed again. Ray heard the two light thunks of Fraser’s boots hitting the floor. When he slipped back into bed, Fraser's chest and upper arms were a bit cool against Ray’s body. But his legs and feet felt warm. He wrapped himself tightly around Ray, though he held Ray a bit stiffly until Ray began snoring. 

* * *

“Oh…” Fraser moaned softly under Ray, eyes squeezed shut, his legs wrapped high and tight around Ray's flanks. “Ray. God.”

“Good?” Ray whispered, thrusting slowly back into Fraser, watching his face.

Moving faster would push Ray closer; he didn't want to just yet. He wanted Fraser's first time to be perfect. Fraser's tight heat around him was incredible, even through the condom – or maybe, thank God for the condom; he'd last longer with it.

“So good…” Fraser murmured, gripping Ray’s upper arms.

“Yeah,” Ray breathed and pressed his forehead against Fraser’s collarbone, pulling out slowly. He listened to Fraser’s breathing stutter and accelerate, feeling Fraser shiver beneath him.

“Ray, please…” Fraser moaned again. “Please, you’re–”

“I know.” Ray kissed his chest. “I know, just–” He thrust back in slowly and to the hilt.

“Ray…” Fraser’s voice trailed off.

“Yeah?” Ray teased softly, withdrawing slightly faster, licking sweat from Fraser’s throat. “Ready?”

“So ready,” Fraser gulped, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Okay…” Ray steadied himself and pushed in faster. He rose from his elbows to brace himself on his hands. The depth and speed of his penetration rapidly increased until he was fucking like an animal. Fraser writhed beneath him.

“Ray, oh, God–” Guttural groans burst from Fraser’s throat and his fingers tightened in Ray's upper arms. He spasmed around Ray's cock.

“Come on,” Ray urged quietly, voice shaded with lust and his own impending climax. “Come for me now.”

And Fraser did, twisting and shaking under him and clenching helplessly around Ray’s cock, Ray’s orgasm following close behind. 

* * *

Fraser shook Ray awake in the dark. "What's wrong with me?"

Ray yawned, blinking. "What? Nothing." 

"How can you say that?" Fraser sat up against the headboard of the bed. Ray sighed and did so too, albeit with half-closed eyes. "I made you have sex with... with other men while I watched, rather than have sex with you myself," Fraser continued. "What the hell is wrong with me?" His voice quavered.

Ray opened one eye. "You still on that?" He yawned again. "So you’re kind of an emotional train-wreck. You got some baggage. So what? Everybody does." He rubbed his eyes. Fraser reached for the bedside lamp, but Ray grabbed his arm. "Don't. Plus, you didn't _make_ me. No one had a gun to my head."

Fraser covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I _am_ fucked up. I am _so_ fucked up, Ray." His hands slid down to cover his entire face.

Ray shut his eyes, wishing for more sleep, but knowing that if Fraser swore, this was _really_ important. He put an arm around Fraser's shoulders. "It's fine. You were trying to protect me. Or yourself. Maybe both. It's okay. Everything turned out okay."

Fraser shook his head, his face still hidden in his hands. "It's not. It's _not_ okay."

"Fraser," Ray said firmly, tightening his arm around Fraser's shoulders. "The impulse was good. The execution, a little unusual. But I'm fine. You're okay. We’re good."

"I'm not. I'm _not_ okay. I can't be with you – and I can't be _away_ from you," Fraser whispered, dragging his hands down his face and clasping them tightly in his lap.

"You will be fine, Fraser," Ray said patiently. "Be away all you want. Fish or whatever. You can have your space. I'll be here when you come back. Take all the time and space you need."

"Oh, God," Fraser gulped. He leaned hard into Ray. "I don't know how to do this, Ray. How can you stand me?"

Ray put both arms around Fraser then, and pulled him sideways into his arms.

"People have done some really fucked-up things in relationships," Ray began. "Domestic violence, stalking, murder. You _know_   that. _This_ is nothing like _that_. You know that too." He rubbed his forehead against Fraser's temple. "Plus there was this thing called 'consent' involved."

He squeezed Fraser tighter. "You are the nicest, kindest guy I know. A better person than pretty much everyone I've ever met except maybe my mom. Maybe a little neurotic interpersonally, but who isn't. It's past. We're fine. Let it go."

"I. . . I can't," Fraser sighed heavily, his voice low. "I'm having – bad dreams."

"Oh," Ray sighed, but he didn't ask. Poking and prying would yield less info than waiting for Fraser's voluntary disclosure. "Well, that might make it hard to let go of it."

"Yes. It does." Fraser swallowed audibly. He reached up tentatively and grasped Ray's forearms, then tightened his grip on them.

"Would it help. . . if you did something to make it up to me?" Ray asked quietly.

"I don't know. Such as?" Fraser asked.

"I don't know, either," Ray confessed. "It would probably work better for your bad dreams, if whatever you did was meaningful to you."

Fraser paused, his grip on Ray's forearms relaxing somewhat. "I'll think about it," he said thoughtfully. "About what would be meaningful. But – do you have any preferences?"

Ray yawned and smiled, his eyes still closed. "Make it up to me any way you want. I'm easy that way."

Fraser hesitated, then spoke quietly. "You are, you know."

"I'm what," Ray said sleepily, losing the thread of the conversation.

"Easy. So easy to be with. All of this angst – it's  mine."

Ray half-opened his eyes. "It wasn't, Frase. Not by a long shot. Not in the beginning when I didn't know why you were – kept me at arm's length." He yawned mightily and squeezed Fraser tight once more. Then he let go and slid back down in bed. "Just knowing you felt the same and wanted me too went a long way." He carefully didn't mention the ring Fraser still had and wore only when off-duty.

"Oh," Fraser said wonderingly. 

"Yeah," Ray murmured. "And... I might not always be. Easy." He stifled a yawn. "I can be... well, you know. A basket case. You've seen." He rolled on his side. "It goes back and forth. You get that, right? Now it's you. It'll be me, some time. Then it'll be you again."

Fraser slid down in bed behind him and spooned him.

"I believe you," he whispered. There was a pause. "I'll think of something, Ray. Something meaningful to do."

"Okay," Ray sighed, feeling sleep pull him under.

* * *

From that very first time he had fucked Ray in Ray's bed, Fraser had begun to map Ray's body. He had even said as much, one night. _I want to know every inch of you_ , he'd told Ray one evening after kissing both of Ray's inner elbows, which was after he'd given Ray a foot rub. To which Ray had haplessly replied, _Okay_.

The mapping had continued, not just on the surface, but the depth of Ray's sensation. Fraser had an almost scientific curiosity in provoking Ray's physical responses and upping their intensity. It could have been a bit weird had it not been coupled with his eagerness to please Ray. If Ray liked something, Fraser seemed to reason, then he might like _more_ of it – or might like it harder, faster, more intense. So whatever Ray liked, Fraser tried to do more, harder, faster, more intense.

Ray was okay with this plan. More than okay with it. He had known this before with Stella, but it seemed a million years ago; he'd forgotten the way so much sexual pleasure, so often, could leave him feeling almost high.

One morning – after some especially hot morning shower sex – when they showed up at the 27th, Welsh took one look at Ray and said, "In my office." Upon entering, Welsh slammed the door, yanked the blinds shut, and proceeded to rip Kowalski a new one for showing up to work still "impaired" from the night before.

It took Ray's languidly processing brain a few minutes to catch up. When it did, he smiled, actually amused – utterly unlike the usual go-ahead-just-push-me, edgy cop persona he put on every morning with his shoulder holster, gun, and badge. He actually laughed at the Lieu.

Welsh looked apoplectic for a moment before he barked, "This funny to you, Detective?"

Ray smothered his smile, not without difficulty; he felt utterly fine with _everything_. "Test me, sir."  
  
Welsh's eyes narrowed at that. "What?"

"Breathalyze me. Piss test me. Right here, right now. I'm not on anything," Ray smiled smugly. "Sir," he added, just because.

Welsh stepped closer, scrutinizing Kowalski closely, especially his eyes. "Then what's wrong with you?" he growled. "This" – he gestured at Ray, head to foot – "isn't the same detective who left last night. You appear impaired." He sat heavily behind his desk and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, I'm not," Ray drawled easily. "Test me. Sir."

Welsh laced his fingers together across his belly and stared at Ray impassively for a long moment. "Then, I repeat: what _is_ wrong with you?"

Ray smiled, not even a snarky or nasty smile – a genuine one. "If there's a cure for this, I don't want it," he said.

Welsh's eyes widened, even as he frowned.

"If there's a remedy, I'll run from it," Ray continued helpfully. "Sir."

Welsh and his desk chair quickly came forward with a thunk. He sighed long-sufferingly. "Jesus. Go clear your backlog. You're no good for anything else." He waved Kowalski out, muttering, " _Love Hangover_. Sing Barry White while you're at it, why don't you..."

Fraser – who had waited close enough outside Welsh's office to eavesdrop, but far enough away to appear not to have done so – whispered _Endorphins_ to Ray as they walked to Ray's desk. Ray smiled crazily at Fraser across his desk, and Fraser smiled back. Welsh yelled for Francesca, who soon slammed a folder full of improperly filed reports on Ray's desk before she stalked away – not before flashing bare midriff in front of Fraser's face and making him stutter, still half-pissed that Ray had landed him and not above proving she still had an effect. Which Ray did not begrudge her or dispute – her belly still even affected him sometimes, though he had a hell of a distraction almost every night to make him forget anyone else even existed.

Ray kept right on smiling through hours of paperwork and repeated corrections by Fraser which would have ordinarily driven him off the deep end because _endorphins_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Hillrose Cemetery while fishing, Fraser recites excerpts of ‘A Birthday' by Christina G. Rossetti. It is available to read online at the Project Gutenberg EBook of [‘Poems’](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19188/19188-h/19188-h.htm) by Christina G. Rossetti at <http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19188/19188-h/19188-h.htm>.
> 
> The lyrics "If there's a cure for this, I don't want it... if there's a remedy, I'll run from it" are from the Diana Ross song "Love Hangover," written by Pamela Sawyer and Marilyn McLeod.


	16. Chapter 16

It was still dark when Ray awakened for no apparent reason except maybe he was thirsty. When they had fallen asleep, Fraser had spooned him and had draped an arm and a leg over Ray. Now he was wrapped around Ray more than Ray could ever remember _anyone_ being wrapped around him. One leg was over Ray's legs, one arm was under Ray's neck. The other arm was not only around Ray's stomach, but Fraser's hand had crept down and loosely cradled Ray's cock and balls through his boxer briefs. Which might explain why Ray's cock was half-hard. Or it could just be that time of the morning.

He glanced up at the clock on the bedside table; just after four AM. Ray blinked in the darkness. He wanted a glass of water, he decided. He unwrapped Fraser's hand from his cock and balls, and took it gingerly by the wrist to shift it back onto Fraser's own hip without waking him. But Fraser stirred then. His arm under Ray tightened its grasp, as did his leg over Ray's legs and the arm Ray'd been attempting to remove, curling around his stomach again.

"Where do you think you're going?" Fraser murmured, his lips and voice ticklish behind Ray's ear. He pressed his already-erect cock into the cleft of Ray's butt.

"To get a glass of water," Ray replied softly, his cock already stiffening in response.

"No, you're not," Fraser growled possessively.

He twisted his wrist out of Ray's grasp and slid his hand down to Ray's cock again. He must have felt how stiff it was. He stroked it through Ray's underwear as it hardened further.

"Okay, I'm not." Ray smiled in the dark.

Fraser stroked Ray's cock faster, harder, and tighter briefly. Then he rolled Ray onto his back and settled on him. He rubbed their cocks together for a moment before he sat up beside Ray. Sheet and blanket pooled around him as he pulled Ray's underwear down and off.

Fraser was naked, as usual. This was an initially surprising 'as usual' Ray hadn't asked too much about. The stated reason was Ray kept it too warm in his apartment. Actually, as Fraser well knew, Ray had no control whatsoever over the temperature. The thermostat was set too warm for the _entire building_ because most tenants – especially the elderly tenants – complained it was too _cold_. And heat rose, so Ray's second floor apartment was probably not as warm as the third floor units, but still warmer than the Consulate, where Fraser's union suit worked just fine as pajamas.

Fraser had started out wearing boxers and a white T-shirt to bed at Ray's apartment. That quickly became wearing just his boxers to bed. One night Fraser was just naked in bed, and it had stayed that way since. He only fully disrobed right before they either had sex or went to sleep. He never walked around Ray's apartment nude; he wore Ray's robe to go to the bathroom and kept boxers and a T-shirt near the bed to wear around the apartment after he got up but before he'd showered, or if Ray was wearing his bathrobe.

Privately Ray thought Fraser's tightly buttoned, zipped, and clothed public self hid this deeply buried, newly awakened, or re-awakened, private self – a sensual, earthy man who craved skin to skin contact of an almost-but-not-quite suffocating nature that nevertheless made Ray kind of ridiculously happy.

Fraser leaned down and licked one of Ray's nipples, then sucked on it, gently at first, and then tighter and rougher. His stubble and warm breath scraped down Ray's stomach to his cock. Ray inhaled sharply just before Fraser closed his mouth on Ray's cock head.

This, of course, Fraser had experimented on extensively. He'd tried to see how slowly he could take it to bring Ray off. He edged Ray five or so times over Ray didn't know how long. It might have been an hour and a half, might have been two hours, something like that. Ray had lost the ability to keep track, let alone think coherently. When Ray had stopped cursing Fraser out, feverishly begging for release, and had begun silently and desperately trying to get himself off, Fraser had had to lie on Ray and hold his wrists down.

"God, you're so good to me," Ray groaned as Fraser's mouth, his achingly beautiful mouth, quickly brought him to the level just below needing to Come. Right. Now. Ray could hang out at this level for a while.

But then Fraser's mouth suddenly disappeared. Ray stifled a whimper. Fraser slid sideways in the bed and reached for the drawer in the nightstand, to which he'd added a few things lately. Handkerchiefs and latex gloves, for example. And non-latex, polyurethane condoms. Which of course he'd researched. Which Ray hadn't expected to make much difference, but kind of did. Fraser snapped a glove on his right hand and came back to Ray with the lube.

"Okay?" he asked quietly and paused.

"If you mean, ' _can I suck your cock while I finger-fuck you?_ ' then, yep," Ray chuckled, wrapping his legs around Fraser.

"Yes, that's what I meant," Fraser murmured, smiling. He pushed Ray's thighs apart, sliding down between them, and flicking the lid up on the Glide.

Just as he was applying cold lube to Ray's hole, about to go down on Ray one more time, Ray sat up on his elbows. "Hey."

Fraser looked up. "Yes?"

"Don't edge me, okay? I just – not that I'm not grateful for all this" – Ray gestured with one hand – "attention. I am, believe me. I just – sometimes I just want a simple orgasm. It's not a, uh – you don't have to prove how good you can do me. I know how amazing you are."

Fraser's expression went from uncertain to understanding and he stroked Ray's inner thigh sweetly. "Of course, I – I just, just – well. Your responses are – rather intoxicating." He ducked his head, nodding. "But I understand. Simple is better sometimes."

"Yeah." Ray sat up completely, then, and slid his hand under Fraser's jaw. "God, you make me happy. Unbelievably happy. Later tonight after work, you do whatever you want to me, 'kay?"

Fraser nodded happily. Ray flopped back down and Fraser got right down to it. But this time, he went lovingly, achingly slow. His lips and tongue and other hand kept a lovely suction, not too intense, not rocketing Ray up to eleven. He lubricated Ray's hole and introduced first one finger slowly, then two. Not that he needed to – they'd been fucking enough lately – but the slow build was a wonderful, strange combination of relaxing and exciting.

Fraser slowly massaged Ray inside and out with his mouth and his hands, drawing Ray excruciatingly slowly up the peak of inevitability. Then he gave Ray three fingers instead of two, probing and twisting, hitting Ray's prostate and tightening the suction of his mouth and the circle of his other hand around Ray's cock until Ray's heart was hammering and he shuddered helplessly.

"Hey, sorry, I'm–" Ray warned. Fraser's mouth came off – they weren't past that window where he could come in Fraser's mouth yet – and his hand took over. Ray came hard, hoarsely gasping, "God, oh, God, oh, _God_ –"

Fraser jacked him through it while his fingers inside milked Ray until Ray was limp, spent, incapable of speech or thought when he finally stopped spasming in Fraser's hand and around his fingers. For a brief moment, the enormity of the way Fraser occupied his life – his heart, his soul; inside, outside – occurred to Ray, a terrifying, crushing weight.

But post-orgasmic haze settled blissfully across Ray's brain, quelling that. Fraser let go of his softening cock and laid it gently on his belly, and withdrew his fingers from Ray's ass. Ray twitched, senses over-saturated with pleasure. He heard Fraser remove the glove almost from a distance, and then Fraser moved over him, leaning over to the drawer of the bedside table for one more thing–

He wiped Ray's belly, pelvis, and cock down with a handkerchief, wiping all the remaining lube between his cheeks last, folding it with wet side in – Ray smiled faintly; _folding_ was so Fraser – and tossing it on the pile of dirty clothes on the chair by Ray's closet. Fraser had been threatening to replace it with an actual hamper for a couple of weeks.

Then he lay down on Ray, over Ray's soft, spent cock and between his legs, wrapped his arms around Ray, and pressed his ear to Ray's still-pounding heart.

"You. Are. So good. To me," Ray murmured. "Endorphins," he chuckled feebly.

Fraser's arms tightened around Ray, but he didn't speak. After several minutes when the high had begun to fade and Ray had recovered some thought and speech, but not much desire to move, he wondered why Fraser hadn't said anything. He stroked Fraser's shoulder and upper back and combed his other hand through Fraser's hair again and again, not surprised to find it a little damp with cooling sweat.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. But Ray had learned, from both Stella-developed patience and career extrapolation and baggage reduction and from this whole crazy courtship with Fraser, how to Keep His Mouth Shut... as well as When It Wasn't About Him and How To Give Fraser Time to say whatever he was working up to saying. Finally Fraser shifted on top of him, just slightly, and inhaled deeply.

"She comes and finds me, and she finds you," he said softly. "In the bad dreams."

Ray tried not to shiver but it was like those old childhood boogie man stories; it felt like maybe someone had walked over his future grave. He just kept the same rhythm, though, stroking Fraser's back and shoulder with one hand and his hair with the other, and didn't say anything. Fraser didn't speak again for long minutes, and then he inhaled sharply again.

"She tries to hurt you. She hurts you." His voice was a broken whisper. His arms tightened around Ray, so tight it almost made it difficult for Ray to breathe, to inhale and expand his ribs and lungs. But he didn't say anything. He kept petting Fraser with both hands.

Fraser didn't say anything else for perhaps ten minutes, so Ray cautiously decided maybe he should say something.

"We're both cops," he ventured.

Fraser nodded slowly against his chest, but remained silent.

"If we're here, I have a gun. If we're–" Ray hadn't suggested this before, but why not now? "–in Canada, you can carry a gun. Maybe I can too, with some special permit." Fraser nodded against his chest again. "We'll be okay." Fraser didn't nod for some time after that, though he did eventually.

Ray rubbed Fraser's shoulder and stroked his hair and waited.  Minutes later, Fraser spoke again.

"I think I know what I want to do to make it all up to you," he said.

Which Ray hadn't expected at all.

* * *

The vows just sort of happened spontaneously. On his sofa, Ray had pillowed his head on Fraser's lap while Fraser read to him from Whitman's _Leaves of Grass_. Ray had expected it to be insanely boring; the title alone seemed to indicate that much. And it kind of was, but it wasn't _boring_ boring, it was more rhythmically hypnotic and mesmerizing the way Fraser recited it. Ray was kind of drowsily spellbound, visualizing behind his closed eyes everything Fraser recited, but in a way that probably looked like he was taking a nap.

The other thing was, it ended up being shockingly sexual, getting Ray kind of hot and bothered. And it wasn't just the way Fraser read it.

"From pent-up aching rivers, From that of myself without which I were nothing, From what I am determin'd to make illustrious, even if I stand sole among men, From my own voice resonant, singing the phallus, Singing the song of procreation–"

"–Whoa, whoa, whoa," Ray interrupted, opening his eyes and looking up at Fraser.

Fraser paused. "Ray?"

"Did you just say _singing the phallus_?"

Fraser colored slightly. "Ah, yes, those are the words–"

"Okay, just checking," Ray said, closing his eyes again. "Because that's what I thought you said. Man, I did not know poetry could be like this. 'Course, there's no way they were gonna teach us _this_ in high school; they're trying to _prevent_ you from having sex, not encouraging it." He sighed, contented. "Continue."

"All right," Fraser said softly. In a stronger voice, he continued. "Singing the need of superb children and therein superb grown people, Singing the muscular urge and the blending, Singing the bedfellow's song, (O resistless yearning! O for any and each the body correlative attracting! O for you whoever you are your correlative body! O it, more than all else, you delighting!)"

Ray opened his eyes and looked up at Fraser again. "Listen, Mr. Singing the Muscular Urge..."

Fraser blinked at him. "Yes, Ray?"

It was hard to tell sometimes if he really was innocent of what he was doing, or if that butter-wouldn't-melt expression was just a mask covering his devilish intentions.

"If you don't stop, you're going to get a muscular urge for bedfellow blending and delighting, right here and now," Ray growled.

"Is that so?" Fraser quirked an eyebrow at him, still propping the book open to the page he'd just been reading.

"Oh, yeah," Ray breathed.

Ray rolled off Fraser's lap and his sofa onto his knees and pushed between Fraser's thighs to take _Leaves of Grass_ out of his hand and set it carefully on the coffee table – Fraser was careful with books, especially library books – before he reached for Fraser's belt and began unbuckling it. Ray glanced up and saw that Fraser's cheeks were flushed and he was smiling, looking fondly down at Ray. He unbuttoned his jeans as soon as Ray unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his jeans before he hesitated.

"Ray?" he asked in the pause.

"Nothing," Ray replied, jerked out of the momentary reverie of staring at Fraser's happy, flushed expression. He opened Fraser's jeans, pushed his boxers out of the way, and drew out Fraser's already stiff cock.  
  
He went for broke, zero to sixty, as quickly as possible... but then he kept Fraser there, twitching and moaning, almost giving him back the edging torment he'd given Ray when he'd been learning and mapping Ray's body. Not that Fraser seemed to be done with that project. Well, neither was Ray. He was learning all kinds of new and interesting things. Poetry that didn't even seem like it would be erotic poetry _was_ erotic. Fraser was fantastically sensitive under his foreskin sometimes and not others, and Ray hadn't quite figured out the why.

Ray finally held Fraser's wrists down by his thighs, doing everything with his mouth. Wrong angle, slightly, and it got a little sloppy what with the speed and the suction and not being able to use the hands holding Fraser's struggling wrists. His eyes teared a little, working as hard as he was, taking Fraser that deep again and again. But he breathed on the off-strokes and Fraser finally shouted and came.

Ray swallowed all of it, every spurt, and released Fraser's wrists because there was no point holding them now; Fraser's hands stroked the back of Ray's neck and cupped Ray's jaw when Ray finally pulled his mouth off Fraser's cock. He sniffed mightily, wiped his mouth with his forearm and the back of his hand, and looked up at Fraser as he was wiping his eyes.

Fraser looked at him so tenderly, Ray hesitated. "What?" His voice was husky.

"Thank you," Fraser said earnestly, leaning down to kiss Ray deeply and thoroughly. When their lips parted, Fraser kept their foreheads together, still stroking the back of Ray's neck. "Thank you," he murmured again.

"For what?" Ray asked, uncertain now for what exactly Fraser was thanking him.

Fraser pressed their lips together again, and then pressed their cheeks together, pulling Ray up from where he knelt on the floor to sit on the couch next to him. "For loving me so much," he whispered, crushing Ray in a bear hug.

Ray hugged Fraser back and then released him. Fraser's eyelids drooped and he stifled a yawn.

"Hey, why don't you lay down, an' I'll read to you," Ray suggested quietly.

Fraser opened his eyes and looked gratefully at Ray. "That would be... lovely."

Ray sat back in the corner of his sofa and patted his lap. Fraser slid down to lie on the couch and put his head on Ray's thigh. Ray picked up the library book from the coffee table and began reading where he thought Fraser had left off.

"From the hungry gnaw that eats me night and day, From native moments, from bashful pains, singing them, Seeking something yet unfound though I have diligently sought it many a long year, Singing the true song of the soul fitful at random, Renascent with grossest Nature or among animals, Of that, of them and what goes with them my poems informing...."

He continued on, "The mystic deliria, the madness amorous, the utter abandonment, (Hark close and still what I now whisper to you, I love you, O you entirely possess me, O that you and I escape from the rest and go utterly off, free and lawless, Two hawks in the air, two fishes swimming in the sea not more lawless than we;)."

Ray paused, thinking, skimming to read further ahead.

Fraser, head on his lap, spoke without opening his eyes. "Ray? Something wrong?"

"No, no. Just..." Ray swallowed. "These... this poem is really beautiful. Is the whole book like this, I mean, like everything we read so far?"

Fraser opened his eyes then. "More or less," he said very softly. "I mean, it's about America, the common people. But it's very earthy and sensual. I was thinking..."

Ray looked from the book to Fraser's face. "What?" he asked.

"Well," Fraser flushed again and trailed off.

"Well, unless you're thinking parts of this would make good wedding vows, you better spit it out," Ray said.

Fraser didn't say anything at first. His mouth fell open and he flushed redder. But then he spoke and his voice was grateful.

"You know what I'm thinking," he purred happily. "I don't know how you do it. Yes. Like wedding vows."

Ray stared at him a moment. "Are you saying I just picked up what you were laying down?" he asked.

"More or less," Fraser nodded seriously.

Ray thought about this a moment. Then his eyes snapped back to Fraser's and he nodded twice. "All right," he said equally seriously. "Let's do it."

Fraser smiled. "I have some favorite passages," he began.

* * *

Ray tried to read Fraser's library copy of _Leaves of Grass_ , heavily bookmarked with sticky notes, which made it a little confusing and difficult to read. He decided he'd better buy his own copy and read it all the way through before deciding on any passages himself. He stopped at a book shop on the way back from interviewing some witnesses one morning, and picked up his own copy so he could mark it however he liked.

And he did, though not as fast as Fraser, of course. Ray wound up dog-earing, bookmarking, and penciling in margin notes by a lot of the same passages Fraser had sticky-noted anyway, which secretly pleased him, though he didn't mention this.

One night while they brushed their teeth, Fraser spit in the sink and spoke. "I would remove all references to lawlessness."

"What?" Ray said, startled out of his own thoughts. He looked at Fraser in the bathroom mirror, but Fraser didn't meet his eyes.

"In the passage where he speaks of being with his lover as two hawks in the sky or two fishes swimming in the sea." Fraser's voice trembled just a tiny bit. "He mentions being free and lawless. I would keep mention of being free, but leave out all mentions of lawlessness."

He leaned down to the sink and ran the water for a moment, rinsing his mouth and toothbrush out and wiping the toothpaste foam from the corners of his lips. When Fraser stood up again, Ray spoke.

"That's reasonable," he said around his toothbrush. Now Ray leaned over and spit in the sink, rinsed, spit, and rinsed his toothbrush.

When he stood up, he looked at Fraser. "I think the language is a little – obscure sometimes. I mean, it's beautiful, but we don't really talk that way and sometimes it's confusing. I would update the language for our vows. Just to be clear what we're saying."

Fraser nodded vigorously, his eyes dark and serious, his expression nervous. "The phrases or passages we use don't have to be long," he pointed out. "They can be paraphrased. People still paraphrase Shakespeare, hundreds of years later."

"Right," Ray agreed. "And I'm thinking... simpler is better. And shorter. Just phrases or stanzas that express our feelings and commitment."

Fraser smiled then, his expression clearing. Ray put his hands on Fraser's shoulders briefly, reassuringly. "It's going to be awesome," he said, then walked out to his bedroom. Fraser followed, turning off the bathroom light.

"I found the perfect place," Fraser said quietly, hopefully.

"Yeah?" Ray said, entering the bedroom. "Where?"

"Don't laugh," Fraser said a bit self-consciously as he followed Ray.

"I won't." Ray stripped off his clothes, down to his boxer briefs. "Where?"

"Within a long day's drive into northern Wisconsin," Fraser began.

Ray had not been expecting that, but he was intrigued. "What kind of church?"

"Not a church," Fraser smiled. "Well, not exactly."

* * *

"How do you know he'll be here?" Ray said nervously. The GTO handled smoothly on US-51, and there were few other cars on the road. Fraser looked down at the map.

"He'll be here. He was down here visiting the Black Cliff and Coeur D'Oreilles Reservations anyway. Turn left when we get to County FF, in about half a mile."

"Oh. He's got friends down here besides you?" Ray put on his turn signal.

"Oh, Quinn has friends everywhere, really," Fraser replied, looking up from the map. Mixed pine and deciduous forest rolled by on both sides, evergreens contrasting with the gold, red, and brown leaves lit by slanting mid-afternoon sun. "It is beautiful here."

"Yep," Ray agreed.

At the intersection with County FF, Ray waited for a truck to pass, and then turned left. This road wasn't as recently paved and was in worse shape, with cracks and bumps from freezing and thawing.

"What is that? Some animal?" Ray noticed something ahead just as he was accelerating out of the turn, something crossing the road.

He slowed down, and as they got closer it resolved into several animals – a flock of large brown birds walking across the highway. He stopped the GTO and they watched the birds waddle warily across the highway, looking beadily at the GTO, no other cars or trucks in sight.

"It's a flock of wild turkeys, Ray," Fraser said. The excitement in his voice warmed something in Ray's belly and he grabbed Ray's forearm happily.

"Wow. I mean, I knew they were big – a roast turkey is big – but they're really _big birds_ ," Ray marveled.

"Yes, they are," Fraser said admiringly. "I think it's a good omen."  
  
"Yeah?" Ray watched them waddle across the road. They walked a little too much like the vicious velociraptors in Jurassic Park for his liking, but then so did swans and Canada geese, once Fraser had pointed the similarities out.

"Yes," Fraser said. They watched the flock of turkeys disappear into the forest. "All right," Fraser glanced down at the map again. "Take this for another nine miles, and then there's a historical marker. Quinn should be there."

"Okay." Ray accelerated. "How did you figure all this out, anyway?"

"Well, there are a number of continental divides, Ray."

"No, that it was a super sacred spot."

"Oh. Research," Fraser said, almost airily, boiling down what had been about a month of evenings and Sundays of reading in the making. Because Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance. 

They both saw the brown-and-white roadside sign indicating a historical marker at the same time. "Guess it's up there," Ray said.

As they turned into the small historical marker pullout, Ray saw an old, late-seventies yellow Thunderbird, not much rust, in pretty good condition. The front end was enormous. Quinn leaned up against it. His eyes were closed, his face smiling up at the sky.

Suddenly Ray was nervous. "He's not going to think the vows are stupid, is he?" He put the car in neutral and put the parking brake on.

"No, Ray," Fraser reassured him, removing his seat belt. Diefenbaker stirred in the back seat, stretching and yawning. He yipped softly.  
  
Ray grabbed Fraser's hand. "You think Walt Whitman is rolling in his grave?"

"No, Ray," Fraser said, squeezing Ray's hand and covering it with his other hand. "I don't think he would mind at all. I think Walt Whitman would appreciate that we paraphrased a small, personally meaningful fraction of his magnum opus to create commitment vows between two earthy men."

"You can say marriage vows," Ray said, surprised to find his voice shaking a little. "I don't care if it's not recognized legally. It's a marriage to me."

"Marriage _is_ a commitment." Fraser smiled his private little smile at him, a little starry-eyed. As usual, it both calmed and melted Ray.

"Okay," Ray exhaled, his racing heart slowing.  "Mr. Semantical," he added, squeezing Fraser's hand once more before they both let go and got out of his car.

"Hello, Ben," Quinn called. "Detective."  
  
"Hi, Quinn," Fraser said warmly as they walked up. He and Fraser embraced.

Ray looked over the Thunderbird before he gave Quinn a strong handshake coupled with a quick one-arm hug. "Nice car," he said approvingly. "This yours?"

"Oh, no," Quinn smiled. "I'm just borrowing it."

"Still, cool car," Ray smiled. "They don't make 'em like that anymore."

Quinn nodded in agreement. He looked from Ray to Fraser. "The Black Cliff and Coeur D'Oreilles elders explained the path. The mounds and boulders aren't too visible if you don't know what you're looking for, and they might not look like much, but they're very old and sacred. Follow me, I know the way."

Quinn turned and started walking through the brush at the side of the historical marker pullout. There was a path worn into the underbrush, sort of, but it was overgrown with short weeds, as if it wasn't used much. Fraser fell in behind Quinn, and Ray behind Fraser. Dief took up the rear, but as a wolf, he felt free to bound off to the side and run ahead before doubling back.

"So what is this place, again?" Ray asked.

"Part of the Virocqua Band Ojibwe's old Nadeau Trail portage route from Lake Superior," Quinn said. "And a sacred site for them and the people that came before them."

"There are effigy mounds with a petroform scale replica of the Skeleton Bird/Crane constellation known to us as Cygnus, with equinoctial functions, from the pre-Columbian Woodlands people." Fraser cleared his throat. "Also, this Trail is on a continental divide. From here north, water flows towards Lake Superior, the Great Lakes, and the St. Lawrence Seaway. From here south, water flows towards the Gulf of Mexico via the Mississippi River."

"We don't need permission to be here?" Ray asked, slightly worried.

"Officially, no. This is Chequamegon National Forest," Fraser said. "Well, Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest, now, the Chequamegon section. Unofficially, given its history and significance, it's polite to ask."

"So we did," Quinn reported from up ahead.

Dief barked approvingly. Ray noticed the gently sloping mounds that were clearly not a natural part of the landscape, like the forest and underbrush had long grown over someone's special landscape planning of long ago. He kept that thought to himself.

"So this land is their land and our land," Ray said.

"Rather like the Woody Guthrie song, yes," Fraser replied.

"Though if we'd had systems of land ownership," Quinn pointed out a bit sarcastically, "it wouldn't have been so easy to take it from us."

"Right," Ray said, sorry he'd made the point. "So these are the mounds?" he gestured to the regular sloping mounds covered in trees, undergrowth, and detritis along the left of their path.

Fraser looked back at him and then where Ray gestured. "Yes. Many of the mounds not cleared for farmland, due to the return of wilderness around them, have become obscured by vegetation, as have the petroforms. The mounds and petroforms in areas of forest are more obvious in spring, when vegetation is minimal and snow-cover begins to melt."

"Huh," Ray said thoughtfully. "So these could be all over the place, and we wouldn't even know. Cool."

He watched Quinn and Fraser exchange an amused glance as they kept walking. They walked for another five minutes or so, until Ray saw some boulders spaced rather far apart. Up until that point he wouldn't have considered them but now he realized that they were the only large rocks or boulders in the landscape at all.

"Here we are," Quinn said, stopping at one particularly large boulder.  He drew a piece of paper out of his pocket, took some reading glasses out of his breast pocket, put them on, and unfolded the paper.

Ray felt suddenly nervous. He took a couple deep breaths, and dug his own copy of their vows out of his pocket. He unfolded it. Fraser, of course, had memorized his.

"Well?" Quinn smiled, squinting in the sun slanting sideways through the trees.

"Ready?" Fraser asked Ray a bit breathlessly, though probably only Ray or Quinn would recognize that breathlessness as nervousness.

"As I'll ever be," Ray said.

Dief, who had run off into the forest, reappeared and yipped.

"Since I'm a tracker, not a shaman, I'm not going to invoke specific spirits or say specific prayers," Quinn explained quietly, looking from Ray to Fraser.

"By all means," Fraser replied gratefully. "Whatever you say beyond facilitating the exchange of vows is entirely voluntary."

"All right. Here, in this sacred place," Quinn spoke a bit more officially, but cast his face to the sky and closed his eyes, "we first express thanks to the spirits for bringing us here safe and in good health with fine weather in our travel here, and for allowing harmonies of fate to bring these two men together. And we ask that all good spirits called here converge to bless this union between Stanley Raymond Kowalski, Ray, and Benton Fraser, Ben. Watch over their union and bless it with good omens, here, and wherever they may go."  
  
He cleared his throat and turned to Fraser. "Ben, what do you have to tell Ray?"

Fraser cleared his throat nervously and began. "Ray, you among the multitude, picked me out with secret and divine signs, Seeing no one else. Some were baffled, but you knew me. Oh lover and perfect equal, I hoped you would find me like this, And when I met you, that I would find you the same way."

Quinn turned to Ray. "Ray, have you something to tell Ben?"

Ray shuffled his feet, leaves crunching under them. The paper in his hand shook but his voice was steady.  "Ben," he began shyly, realizing he almost never called Fraser by his first name, "You to whom I often came to be with, As I walked by your side or sat near, or remained in the same room with you, Little did you know the subtle fire that played for you within me."

Fraser replied, "From privacy and frequently pining alone, From many people near and yet the right person not near..."

Ray continued, "From pent-up aching rivers, From the hunger I felt, night and day..."  
  
"From the walls of a fortressed house, from behind locks and the keep of well-closed doors," Fraser said, and his voice trembled just a bit. "I come forth, with the key of softness unlock the locks—with a whisper, open the doors, oh, soul."  
  
"Seeking something unfound," Ray began, his voice catching before he cleared it and continued, "though I searched so long singing the true song of the soul, come close and hear what I now whisper to you."

Quinn took both their hands and placed them together. Fraser's eyes were shining, and Ray clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling. He couldn't look at Quinn, whose hands were warm above and below his and Ben's. Dief, who had been sitting, stood up on all fours, wagging his tail vigorously.

"Ben, what is your vow to Ray?" Quinn asked, and maybe the emotion was getting to him, because his voice sounded a little rough, too.  
  
"I love you." And now Fraser's voice did tremble as he looked Ray in the eye. "You entirely possess me, us two hawks in the air, two fishes swimming in the sea, this oath of inseparableness of two together, I willingly stake all for you."

"And Ray, what is your vow to Ben?" Quinn said, still clasping their hands together.

"I love you," Ray murmured – the totality of the setting sun, its orange light slanting sideways through the trees, Quinn's warm, fatherly hands above and below theirs, the light breeze, cool air, the darkening sky, getting to him – everything seen through the blur and sparkle of unshed tears. "You entirely possess me, us two hawks in the air, two fishes swimming in the sea, this oath of inseparableness of two together, I willingly stake all for you."

Quinn cleared his throat. "Rings?" he said quietly, letting go of their hands.

Ray hunted in his pocket for Fraser's ring, which Fraser had taken off and given him in the car.

Fraser had gotten him one, which Ray knew nothing about. It and these vows were Fraser's way of making it up to Ray.

"Ray," Quinn said, "do you take Ben to be your beloved, your friend, and your partner in all things, so long as you both shall live?" Quinn asked.

"If he'll have me," Ray murmured.

"I will," Ben instantly blurted. Quinn chuckled, and Ray took Fraser's right hand and put his ring for Fraser on it.

"Ben, do you take Ray to be your beloved, your friend, and your partner in all things, so long as you both shall live?"

"If he'll have me," Ben said breathlessly.

"I will," Ray said solemnly, and extended his hand. Ben took it and put Ray's ring on. It was like Fraser's, gold and titanium or white gold, but Ray saw an inscription on the inside briefly before Fraser put it on him. He would check it later.

"Join hands," Quinn requested, smiling warmly, and they did. "As lovers, friends, and partners inseparable no matter the physical distance, I witness this union of marriage between Ben Fraser and Ray Kowalski." He clasped their hands, squeezed hard once, and released them.  
  
Dief yipped and yapped happily.

"Well," Quinn continued. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. There's a good place up Highway 51 that serves breakfast all day but also burgers and steaks. What do you say?"

"I'm kind of starved," Ray admitted, refusing to let go of Fraser's hand.

"I could eat," Fraser said thoughtfully, squeezing Ray's hand.

Quinn looked at Fraser suspiciously. "Do you have somewhere else to be?"

"A campground before dark," Ben replied hopefully.

Ray grinned. "A motel if it's after dark when we get out of the restaurant. I'm not setting up a tent in the dark so I can sleep on the ground and hurt my back while the tent falls on me."

"I would never let that happen," Ben said seriously.

"Follow me," Quinn said with a smile. He turned and began walking back down the slightly worn path, back towards the historical marker turnout where they'd left their cars. It was noticeably darker now than it had been when they'd walked in, the sun below the horizon already.

Dief yipped and trotted off after Quinn.

"What's the inscription on my ring say?" Ray asked, as he reluctantly let go of Ben's hand so he could follow him single file on the narrow path back to the turnout.

"It's old-fashioned," Fraser explained bashfully, "and not terribly original." He walked ahead of Ray

"Tell me," Ray tapped Fraser's shoulder.

"It says _I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine_ ," Fraser admitted over his shoulder.

"I like that," Ray murmured.

They followed Quinn back through the forested undergrowth, the growing dusk, the gentle swell of the mounds alongside the path, the occasional large boulder, and the surrounding forest lending the environs an ancient, primal feel.

When they finally got back to the turnout, Fraser read the historical marker sign about Nadeau Trail portage from Lake Superior while Quinn told Ray, "Follow me back to US-51, and we'll make a left. It's about forty minutes up 51." He got in the old yellow Thunderbird.

Ray and Ben got in the GTO with Dief, and Ray fired up the engine. Before Quinn took off, Ray turned on the dome light in his car, removed his ring from Fraser, and read the inscription inside. Then he put it back on.

"Ray?" Ben asked, a note of anxiety in his voice.

"I just wanted to check it out," Ray explained, putting the GTO in gear. "I like it. If it's okay with you, maybe I could get that inscribed on the inside of your ring, too?"

Ben smiled then. "I'd like that," he said warmly.

They held hands all the way to the Forest Chalet restaurant.

"I always forget how, this time of year, sunset and twilight seem to happen so fast," Fraser remarked.

"Yeah," Ray agreed.

Ben squeezed Ray's hand. His thumb rubbed the edge of his ring on Ray's finger. "I'm not taking my ring off, Ray," he said.

Ray looked at him for a moment, startled, but then he had to look back at the road. "But I thought you said, like, degloving injuries, and amputations–"

"I do spend most of my time working behind a desk," Ben admitted.

"Yeah, but there are those times when we chase perps, or have to cold-cock guys," Ray pointed out.

"I'll just have to take my chances, then," Ben said mildly.

Ray glanced sideways at him, but Ben smiled out the window, watching the twilit forest flash by.

"Okay," Ray smiled. "Hey, keep an eye out for deer."

It was already full dusk by the time they got there. In the parking lot outside the restaurant, when they got out of the GTO, Dief trotted around them happily, prancing and yipping, while Ray looked up.

And stopped. And stared.

"Jesus," he murmured. "I always forget..."

Fraser looked up with him, and smiled. "Ah, yes. The stars and constellations are as numerous here as at home. Well, my home."

"I want to see the Northern Lights," Ray blurted, still looking up.  
  
"I will show them to you. They're like nothing you have ever seen, Ray." Fraser squeezed Ray's hand in his.

They stood there admiring the stars until Quinn called to them from four cars down. "Are we going to eat tonight?"

"Yes," Ben and Ray answered in unison, before they and Dief turned to follow Quinn into the restaurant.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Ray's living room, Fraser and Ray read excerpts of the poem 'From Pent-up Aching Rivers' to each other from Walt Whitman's 'Leaves of Grass'. He and Ray develop their vows by paraphrasing parts of that poem as well as 'Among the Multitude', 'O You Whom I Often and Silently Come', and 'The Last Invocation'. These and all the rest of the many poems are available via the Project Gutenberg EBook of ['Leaves of Grass'](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm) at <http://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm>.


	17. Coda

Ray Vecchio returned from Las Vegas to Chicago and thence to somewhere in Florida, his friendship with Fraser still solid; Ray Kowalski had his own name back and had _his_ particular solid relationship with Fraser. Kowalski could have left Chicago then, but he stayed for the police-work and the familiarity of Chicago – and of course Fraser stayed in Chicago for Ray.

***

Then there came a time when Fraser left his Ecojot notebook open on their bedroom dresser, open to a poem he had written and had titled “Marriage, Transformation, Dream, Country”. If any kind of book had been left open by Ray, it might have been done casually, but Fraser didn’t do casual – when Fraser did a thing, he did it with _intent_. So when Ray saw the title, it gave him pause. And when he read the poem, it gave him even more pause:

Married to you, your presence here shows me  
the place of your birth transformed  
as the Northern Lights are an atmosphere transformed.  
Married to you, I dream of you in my country –  
how you might be transformed there  
and for better or for worse I cannot know.  
You hold my body in your body and my heart in your heart –  
and I am held here where only in dreams do I see my country.  
Then I dream of your hands, their elegance, their eloquence –  
my ring on your hand.  
The mere touch of your hands holds me here more firmly than handcuffs –  
a confinement accepted because it confines us together.  
I think of how we each for the other exchange our love and our work –  
and in dreams I exchange this Midwestern sky for the Northern Lights.

***

Ray approached Fraser with his own Mead notebook in one hand and Fraser’s Ecojot notebook in the other. “Hey… Frase?”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser responded in a neutral tone that belied his divided desires.

“This is like one of those strange loops you told me about that time on the sinking ship while you were endangering our lives in a wildly bizarre way. Did I not say to you that I want to see the Northern Lights? And did you not say that you would show them to me?”

“Strange loops? Ah. Gödel’s theorem.”

“Yeah. Right. That. Strange loopy thing what I’ve seen in your notebook now, how it’s like I did and didn’t say that and you did and didn’t say that about the Northern Lights. And I’ve got a notebook, too. I could tell you wanted me to see yours – here, I want you to see mine.”

Then as Fraser was about to start reading, Ray said: “And there’s been enough of _my_ sky – maybe more than enough. It’s time we go see yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quotations from "I'm Nobody" by Emily Dickinson, "Waiting for the Miracle" by Leonard Cohen, "I carry your heart with me" by e. e. cummings, "Autumn" and "A Birthday" by Christina Rossetti, "Love Hangover" by Pamela Sawyer and Marilyn McLeod, and an assortment by Walt Whitman are all used under the aegis of the American Fair Use Copyright Act and the Canadian Fair Dealing Copyright Act. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> The genesis of this story was verushka70's request for a fic on [ds-ficfinders](https://ds-ficfinders.livejournal.com/) with the [very specific tags "F/K emotional only, K/OMCs sex only, voyeur!F/performer!K, pining/angst/porn/happy ending" and a detailed description](https://ds-ficfinders.livejournal.com/543292.html). Ride_Forever replied that such a fic needed to exist and if no one recced one, we'd have to make it happen. No one did, so we did. Though this fic doesn't _exactly_ fit the scenario(s) originally detailed, it does hit the major notes and fulfills the tags.
> 
> [Check out the charming complementary art for this fic ](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ds_c6d_bigbang_2017/works/12246276) by the talented [comatosebadger!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/comatosebadger/pseuds/comatosebadger)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wildly Bizarre Boundaries - Complementary Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246276) by [comatosebadger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comatosebadger/pseuds/comatosebadger)
  * [Under the Milky Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12542644) by [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific)




End file.
